


A stroll among the Edelwoods

by AuntyAgonee



Category: Homestuck, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Axe murderers, Body Horror, Child Abduction, Child Murder, Close to Canon, Dave does the whole adventure with a frog in his shirt, Karkat is a bird, Multi, Purgatory, Stalking, and an asshole, child endangerment, dead people everywhere, domestic abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 20:03:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 123,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4072780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuntyAgonee/pseuds/AuntyAgonee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no path that leads in or out of the Unknown.<br/>The Unknown will come to you. And when you are finished, the Unknown will leave.</p><p>Dirk and Dave are lost. They're lost and these strange people sure aren't being helpful. There's a whole town dressed up as scarecrows, a man who's sure he's being stalked by felt (of all the things), and an schoolhouse being harassed by a wolf-thing. No one knows which way to point them, so they're forced to rely on the advice of an extremely rude cardinal named Karkat.<br/>As the nights grow longer, the days grow colder and the thing in the shadows, the beast and the woods-woman get closer every hour they spend in the Unknown.<br/>And the end is not in sight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Into the Unknown, without proper jackets or adult supervision

**Author's Note:**

> Let me make the most obvious disclaimer in the world.  
> Over the Garden Wall is a creation of Patrick Mchale's, and so are the various songs you will find quoted throughout the series. In some cases I have also quoted the dialogue, which I will make clear in future notes to avoid cases of plagiarism.  
> I do not own Over the Garden Wall.  
> I DO NOT OWN OVER THE GARDEN WALL DON'T YOU DARE THINK I DO.  
> All good?  
> All good.

There is a place called the Unknown. It observes the seasons and feeds its thick forests with wide, rushing rivers that never truly freeze even in the dead of winter. Its sky holds both and moon and a sun and a smattering of stars at the appropriate times. Those who populate it are of a strange breed, but will leave their doors open to welcome strangers, and their hearths lit to warm the weariest travellers. The forests are full of many things, some of which have yet to be named, some of which will never be named and most of which have lost their names to the great, white darkness that lurks at the back of each mind.  
There is no path that leads in or out of the Unknown.  
The Unknown will come to you. And when you are finished, the Unknown will leave. 

At some point during the night, very close to dawn, the moon turns the colour of red wine. 

A young man with a wrench in his hand looks up from his work. The dented horseshoe falls out of his lap as he stands and brushes the metal shavings from his apron with his free hand, inspecting the new red of the moon with a measured distaste. He reaches behind him and pushes the door that he had sat with his back to wide open. A rush of warm air billows into the night, carrying the sweet scent of sugar and burning wood with it.”  
“Yes, love?” comes a voice from inside the inn.  
“Light the lanterns, dear,” he flicks a lone shaving off of the collar of his cravat “And we best have a table spare for the meal tonight.”

The red light of the moon crawls across a neat lawn, throwing up an eerie series of shadows over the ornate flowerbeds, bouncing off of the panes of the verdant greenhouse and turning the buds that grow there a violent red. A pair of curtains in an upper room are drawn back. For a moment, a slim, sallow-faced man stares out at the reddened grass. He watches as one of the dozens of peacocks that have the run of the grounds struts past, the tattered stem of a rose hanging from its beak. The peacock begins to move faster as soon as his eyes have fallen on it, as if it does not wish to be disturbed.  
The man coughs behind his hand and checks his palm for blood. His lips twitch in what might be a small smile when a sudden crash down the hall makes him jump. He reacts as if he were struck with a branding iron. The shatter of ceramic echoes around the wide halls for the briefest second, and almost covers up the faint laugh that follows.  
Almost. The man hears it anyway, and draws the curtains once more.

The colour of the moon’s reflection changes on the water. Shielding his eyes against the glare, the ferryman pulls his hood up and looks to the far side of the bank. He has to search for a few moments before he sees what he is looking for. He then reaches into the large folds of the travelling cloak that drowns his figure and withdraws a flint and a long candle. Planting the candle on the prow of the boat, he blinks against the firelight that flutters into life a second later.  
He has no need for oars to make the boat move along the river. The water has calmed as morning approached, and now seems as opportune a time as any to find his fishing rod.

“Goodness. I haven’t seen that colour in a long time.”  
“W-v-what colour?”  
“Come out here and look.”  
“I ain’t decent!”  
“So? Nobody’s decent! Just come out! You can’t miss this.”  
The porch of the townhouse soon fills up. The crowd mutters, exchanging theories and old rumours quietly so their conversations cannot be distinguished from the wind whistling through the tree tops.  
“I think it best we bring the crops in early this year.” suggests one of them.  
“What the hell for?” demands another “At least half of it isn’t properly ripened yet.”  
“So let your share ripen in the larder. It’s either that, or we have no stores at all for the winter.”  
Some in the crowd murmur an assent.  
One of the smaller of them points towards the great expanse of fields that border them on all sides “We should take down the sign.”  
The signpost is just barely visible on the furthest of the hills that is visible from the townhouse, silhouetted by the moon.  
“No. They must know what to call us when they come.”

A single boy is awake in the dorm room to observe the first few minutes of the red moon. At first, he is glad to have it to himself, thinking that it will be a good story to tell the others in the morning. But the longer he stares, the more uneasy he grows. The more certain he grows that a flicker of movement is weaving its way in and out of the treeline that stands less than a quarter of a mile from the dorms. Finally, his courage breaks, and he goes to the bed next to his to shake his friend awake.  
The other boy jerks awake, surprised to find himself up before dawn “Sol? What’sa matter?” he yawns and rubs his eyes “Ya need the bathroom?”  
“Something’s wrong with the moon.”  
“What?”  
“Something’s wrong with the moon.” he repeats irritably and points out the window “Somebody upstairs musta fucked up again.”

A boy’s hand trembles as he counts. The number slips from his mind as he discovers a strange red light bathing his hand. He looks to the chink of a window at the very top of the low ceiling.  
“Daddy? What’s going on?”  
After a pause, a voice answers from the upstairs “It’s alright, child. Back to work.”  
As always, his body is compelled by the words to move again, back to the bones and back to his current task. But he cannot shake the light from his mind. Such is his curiosity that he summons the willpower to resist the magic on his skin for just the briefest of moments, and crosses the room. He peers through the low window on the tops of his toes and watches the moon glow like an ember for no more than two seconds, then his legs carry him back to bones.  
He has many shelves to fill from this month. 

The bird does not notice the change in colour for the longest time. The new colour of the moon matches his plumage. And when he does notice, a disgusting, pathetic hope swells in his chest and leaves a taste like bitter medicine in his beak.  
He takes flight.

And lastly, in the part of the wood so deep she can’t help but think of it as the entrails, a woman wrenches the handle of her axe from the stump of the tree she has just felled.  
“Not again,” she whispers “Please…not so soon.”  
“They just can’t stay away, can they?” laughs another voice beside her.  
She bites her bottom lip. Carefully, she lifts the lantern that lights her way from the forest floor. She grips the handle so tightly her bone-white knuckles become bloodless, and begin to hurt.  
“I won’t do this again.”  
“Yes you will,” retorts her companion “You always do.”  
“I won’t.” she repeats.  
A sigh passes over her, like a cold wind “Of course you will.”

 

 

“Dave. Stop making that noise…Dave. I swear to God Dave, I will pop you in the head if you don’t stop making that noise. Dave, I need to concentrate. Dave. Dave! DAVE!”  
Dave lets the last of the air out of his cheeks and makes the same, wet, flapping noise that he has been using to drive you crazy for the last four minutes solid. His cheeks are by now flushed with the effort, and his laughs are breathless, but he inhales as deeply as he can and prepares himself for another round. Seizing him by the face, you quickly flatten his inflated cheeks and produce a single, loud spitting noise. A fleck of spit his the lens of your glasses.  
“Dave. Do you know where we are?”  
Unable to speak, Dave shakes his head between your hands.  
You grit your teeth in a grimace of a smile “Do you think I can concentrate with you singing the song of a cow’s backside in my ear?”  
The mischievous smile falls from Dave’s mouth as he assumes the expression of perfect innocence. It’s a blank look that no one could assign any guilt to, with only the slightest hint of what might be amusement or dismay. The face he uses to convince your father that it wasn’t him, that either Dirk or gravity was responsible for the breakage or spillage, but most likely Dirk.  
“So let’s put these pieces together. You don’t know where we are. You’re making the kind of noises that make my brain want to swan dive out of the back of my perfect hair. Do you think that’s a productive way to get home, or are you dooming us to a life of wandering around these woods until we’re both old dudes with Gandalf beards down to our knees?”  
Dave’s face remains carefully blank, but he manages to speak through his squished up lips “Bring on the beards.”  
You let him go, resisting the urge to smash your little brother’s annoying face to pulp between your hands like a super-villain. You take a deep breath and imagine yourself back at home, locked safely in your room and plugged into headphones where you won’t have to look at Dave or listen to your father. Just you and anime. Just you and anime. You will get through this and you will get back to the second season of FMA and you will not kill Dave brutally with your bare hands in the process.  
Hopefully.  
Now that he feels satisfied he has made you lose your cool, Dave sticks his hands in his pockets and carries along the path happily. He plunges his foot into drifts of leaves that have been pushed into tree roots by the winds and kicks them up, making a snow of sorts. A yellow leaf has been stuck in his hair for the past ten minutes. Every time you reach over to take it out, he smacks your hands away and hisses like Gollum.  
Actually, you’re kind of grateful to Dave. In his own limited, childish way, he understands you’re scared. He understands that you have no idea where this forest in the brilliant throes of autumn colours came from, nor which way to go to get home, and he’s doing his best to distract you from your fears. At some point soon he’ll break down into tears and you’ll have to assume the big brother role properly. For now, you’re happy to let him make you mad and make you forget why you’re so on edge in the first place.  
The road is more of a dirt path. Red and gold leaves cover the path and float through the air. Every now and then, a sharply cold gust of wind goes by and cuts straight through your thin jacket. Dave hadn't packed for the weather when you left for school, of course, trusting that the weather would clear up for him. His jacket was so think it made him shiver, so you had to swap the jackets out with him. You have stuffed yourself into his, and you had to wrap him up in yours. The sleeves droop over his hands and make his arms look like two little elephant trunks.  
Your arms are drawn into your sides and you’re trying to keep moving to stop yourself from shivering in front of Dave. Neither are you are very good at asking if the other is ok. If he sees you shivering, he’ll just shove the jacket back at you and refuse to take it back.  
Forgetting himself, Dave slips his hand into yours. When he realises what he has done, he makes a face and tries to pull away. His hands are too cold for you to let them go with a clean conscious, so you cling onto the one you have.  
“Let go of me, you homo.” he mutters.  
“Homo is an observation, not an insult. God, what do they teach you on the playground?”  
Before Dave can formulate a suitably witty response, a deep croak filters out of his shirt. A little green head pokes out of the top of his collar and beady eyes peer up and down the forest path.  
You nod towards the frog in his shirt “How’s he doing?”  
“She. He. It.”  
“So you can be PC about the gender of a frog, but you can’t be nice to gay people?”  
Dave frowns “Sorry, sheesh. Just let go of my hand.”  
“My hand is cold.” you retort, feeling his little nails scratch at your palms.  
“Yeah that’s why I want you to let go.”  
For a seven year old child, he’s got a mouth on him like the sassiest of sailors. Your father is consistently mortified and bowled over by the things Dave says, as they vary in their levels of cuteness and rudeness.  
Instead of letting go of him, you quicken your pace a little.  
“Hey, slow down,” he protests, stumbling a little in his effort to keep up.  
The frog lets out another throaty croak.  
Dave shakes his head “I know, isn’t he?”  
You’re struck by a sudden brainwave “How about I carry you?”  
Dave is caught between wanting to cuss you out and the sheer excitement of hearing that his brother wants to pick him up and put him on top of the world. Puberty was more than kind to you and has elevated you to heights that are kind of embarrassing at the tender age of only fifteen. Six feet tall exactly, which means Dave gets to look down at the world from seven or eight feet on the rare occasions you’re willing to put him on your shoulders.  
Finally, he relents. He lets go of your hand and lifts his arms in a familiar gesture of ‘up’. You used to be his favourite mode of transportation when he was still too young to realise how lame it was to look up to your big brother. From six downwards, he’d scurry up a leg or cling to your arm until you picked him up almost every time he saw you.  
You kind of miss that.  
With Dave safely situated on your shoulders, the long sides of his coats hang down and cover a part of your shoulders. Just enough to protect your shoulders from the gusts of biting wind, and in such a way that Dave doesn’t realise you clever ploy. Oh yeah, you’re feeling the deviousness today.  
The frog is pressed against the back of your neck in the most disgusting, clammy way. Makes you feel like you’re in Scooby-Doo, asking Shaggy why his hands are so cold when it’s really a monster touching up your neck.  
“Can you move that frog?”  
Dave flips his hood up and pops the frog on top of his head. Briefly, you think about a lecture. He doesn’t know where that frog’s been, except for the extremely creepy graveyard where he found it. He doesn’t know what kind of germs frogs carry. At this point, you’d invent a bunch of highly  
Volatile and fatal diseases that the average frog swims with. Knowing Dave, even if he believed you he’d probably just rub the frog’s slimy skin in your face and say “Warts for everyone”  
“How you doing?”  
You feel him shrug. You take the first step, wary of where you’re putting your feet. Dave wraps his arms around your shoulders and crosses his knees around your waist. He presses his cold cheek to the back of your head and sighs, tickling your ear with his hot, syrupy little-kid breath.  
“I’m kinda hungry.” he admits.  
“There’s a Mars Bar in my pocket.” you offer.  
God, what if you can’t find a way out before the night falls again? What if you have to spend the night here? How are you going to feed Dave, and what will he drink? Is your blood a viable option? Works for vampires.  
“And there’s a whole cookie jar of candy in my pockets,” counters Dave “But I want to save that for an emergency.”  
You can’t help but laugh “Gotcha, little man. Maybe Zeus Ferguson will share some of his flies with his.”  
Dave scoffs “That’s not their name. Not anymore.”  
“Oh yeah?” you step carefully over a large branch “I liked it.”  
“I can’t name them after a Greek God.”  
“Why not? You like Heroes of Olympus.”  
“If I were gonna name it…ok, their new name is Leo.”  
You have to laugh again, even though you don’t really feel it. Inside you, there is only a series of nagging fears, biting at you like you’ve swallowed a nest of wasps.  
But you continue forward, down the path that is swallowed up by the arching trees and populated by only you, your brother, the nameless and genderless frog, and a snow of autumn-dried leaves.

 

Not so far into the distance, someone is watching.  
They are pleased by what they see, by the dread they taste growing in the heart of the eldest child. The seeds always germinate with a surprising speed once their host is aware they are planted.  
In no time at all, the Unknown will have itself two more Edelwood trees, and the Lantern’s future will be secured in the coming winter.


	2. The woodswoman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So while I will be closely adapting the stories, I will be adding some of my own ideas and such because to just copy out the story twist for twist would be no better than plagiarism. Not too much is going to be all that different, or very radically different at that. Just expect some extra flares, some of that dark, scary, Homestuck spice.

You’re still Dirk.  
You’re still walking.  
The path stretches out into what seems to be an eternity of the same ragged, uneven path, the same browning trees that shed tonnes of red and yellow leaves that form a carpet under your feet. The shadows that hang between the trees are broken u frequently by the cold sunlight that filters in from above. Every now and then, the canopy overhead falls away and a patch of grey-streaked sky is revealed. The day is still young, although it feels as if you must have been walking for hours.  
Dave is cycling through stages of deathly quiet, when he grows sallow and scared and winds his thin arms tight around your chest. The rest of the time, he can’t stop talking.  
“I think we’re in Maine.”  
“You think we’re in Maine?” you repeat “Well keep an eye out for Stephen King. He roams the state’s woods like the Sasquatch.”  
The frog croaks an agreement. Dave changed its name from Leo to Washington, figuring that it was asking for trouble to name an amphibian after a fire-breather. He is now trying out Bridgette because you pointed out that he had no idea what the frog’s gender was in the first place.  
Dave yawns “Maine has lots of forests. Like, everywhere. The entire place is one big forest and all the Mainians have to live in treehouses.”  
You smile “Who told you that?”  
“It’s like the first thing they teach you in kindergarten.” he rests his cheek against the back of your neck and stares off into the distance “Hey, look over there! There’s one right there!”  
You don’t bother to look until Dave takes your head in his hands and turns you to the side.  
A large house crouches in the darkness behind the trees. The main section is little more than a giant block of roughly hewn timber with two stories of windows. Attached to its side is a great wheel, the kind you have only ever seen in historical sights, where somebody’s going to be re-enacting the later days of the pioneers.  
Dave starts to kick and struggle to be let down.  
“Let’s go see.” he insists “Somebody’s home. They’ll help us.”  
Your heart skips a beat “Who do you see?”  
He points out a small, gold light flickering by the side of the building.  
“Somebody’s lantern.” says Dave “Put me down.”  
Letting him down, you grab his hand and slip the other into your pocket, where your pen-knife lives.  
“Dave?”  
He tugs on your hand like a stubborn fish on the end of a line “Come on! I need to borrow their bathroom!  
“Dave, you know those horror movies you’re not supposed to watch?”  
Hesitating, Dave stops looking up and shrinks into your side. He winds his arms around your skinny waist and plants his face in the small of your back. You’re going to have to remember that trick in the future when you need Dave to stay close.  
For a moment, you stay on the path, listening for the sound of a voice or voices. It would be dumbness of the highest order to charge off the only path that you are aware of there being in this strange, expansive forest towards a house and a person, or people, whom you know nothing about.  
“I really need to pee.” says Dave again.  
Then again, to ignore a possible chance at rescue and safety would be even stupider. Especially with the morning giving way to a brisk afternoon and only a single jacket and a Mars Bar between the two of you. Shouldn’t your father have sent out some kind of search party by now? He may be constantly wading through a swamp of work that goes up to his eyeballs, but he’s responsible as far as keeping an eye on the two of you goes. Your phone went missing in the fall, so you can only assume it’s resting on the riverbank somewhere. Thanks to the water, your watch is frozen at 8:45 p.m. forever.  
At the moment, you have no way to contact the outside world and no guarantee that you will run across anything as promising as this house for the rest of the day. Or ever.  
“Dave, I want you to stay close to me.”  
Now that he has had the time to be embarrassed about his clinginess, he’s trying to distance himself from you, but you’re not having any of it. Clamping a hand on his shoulder you keep him tucked tight into your side, handing him the frog. If you have to fight your way out of here, there’s no way you can do that with a frog in your shirt.  
In your head, you have already planned a dozen exit strategies, a couple identities and lies to justify why you’re in here and how to sort of subtly communicate that you are not to be fucked with.  
God, you’ve never appreciated those self-defence lessons more than you’re appreciating them right now, as you step off the path into the woods. The leaves are much thicker on the ground here. Winds have blown all of the leaves off the path that stretches out into the horizon. It’s a relief to finally get out of the wind, to get out of the scissoring cold.  
“Don’t tell him your real name. Make some shit up, ok?”  
“Why?”  
“Because I said so.”  
“That’s not a good reason.”  
“Yeah it is Dave. I can think of a lot of reasons why you need not to tell whoever that is your life story, but it’d be a lot easier if you just listened to me.”  
“Who do you think it is?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“Can you hear that smacking sound?”  
Listening hard, you find that you can. The sound of wood being struck with what sounds like an axe blade. It’s enough to freeze your stomach and stop you right in your tracks, tugging Dave even closer so he squawks in pain and surprise.  
For a moment, you’re stuck in that dizzying fear that kept a younger you pinned in place when you stared down a dark hallway at night. That fear that paralysed you until you tapped into the well of courage that lurks at the bottom of your stomach and darted to the relative safety of your father’s bedroom to wait out the monsters and the interminable nights. It’s that fear where you just know you can’t possibly move or ever overcome it. Luckily, it is also a fear that passes, leaving a feverish heat under your skin and a trembling in your breath.  
You can do this.  
You’ve gotta do this because you’re the big brother and you can’t expect a seven year old with a frog hanging off his collar to take charge.  
“We need a code word.”  
“Code word?” he repeats.  
“When I say…when I say ‘Usain’, I want you to bolt out of there like you are him, got it?”  
He thinks about it “What if you need me to get over to you or something.”  
“Then I’ll say ‘Dave get over here’.”  
“Yeah but why don’t you want a code for that? ‘Cos what if you want to say it without them knowing?”  
“Ok, ok, if I want you to come over to me then I’ll say ‘hither’. That sound alright?”  
He nods.  
Almost as if to agree with your suggestion, the shriek of falling timber rings out, followed promptly by a massive crash. Dave squeezes your hand.  
You start forward again, marking your way in your mind. Thick underbrush will hamper your progress on the way back to the main path, but if you really, really need to run, it shouldn’t be a problem for you. If need be you can always carry Dave again. You had him on your back for two or three hours and have barely felt a twinge of soreness at all.  
“Can we call Bro?”  
“Sure. If they have a phone, but I don’t know if they will. There are no power lines out here.”  
Dave bites his bottom lip, puzzled “Are they Amish?”  
You shrug “Might just be an eccentric hermit.”  
This only concerns Dave even more “What if we have to beat him up?”  
“Then you hold him down and I’ll go to town on his creepy ass. How does that sound?”  
He nods, slightly comforted. The frog croaks again.  
As you approach the house, you can see that it isn’t as old as you thought it would be. Which isn’t to say that the house isn’t in a state of disrepair. In fact, at least half of it has been gutted, blackened and exposed to the elements by what must have been a terrifying fire. You can’t begin to imagine what must have put it out and saved the other half of the house, because the only dampness in the forest is underneath the leaves and in the soil. It must not have rained here in decades.  
The mill that is attached to the house hasn’t suffered any damage visible from the outside. You hear the faint sound of the timber creaking as the house settles. The top of a tree sticks out from behind the house. A snarl of browned leaves and long, thick branches, still shivering from the fall. A cloying smell of sap and sweet bark makes you want to gag.  
Dave points at the door-step of the house “Lantern.”  
He has the good sense to drop his voice to a whisper, but the frog croaks loudly again. Cursing, you shoot it a withering glance. Of course the frog doesn’t understand what it’s done wrong and keeps groaning at the back of its throat.  
The lantern is of the ilk of one you might see in a museum. Small and smoothly built of curves of what might be brass and glass, where the fire nests. You can’t see inside the lantern, or what it is fed by. The fire glares white and hot. Even from here, you swear you can feel the heat it throws off.  
“Whose lantern is it?” asks Dave.  
“Don’t touch it.”  
“I wasn’t gonna.”  
“Yeah you were.”  
“Nu-uh.”  
“Don’t start that.”  
There’s a sudden snap of bracken in the woods behind you. Whirling around, you push Dave behind you instinctively. Your hand clenches to a fist around the handle of your pen knife.  
Nothing there. Nothing but the woods and the path, brightly lit a few hundred metres in the distance.  
You swear you can hear a voice mutter faintly, but the sound is so brief and so quiet it might as well be a whisper of the wind.  
“Idiots.”  
“Did you hear that?” rasps Dave.  
Dave’s sharp fingernails scratch your thigh through the fabric of your jeans. Unnerved, you balance yourself with a hand on top of his head and blink hard.  
“No,” you lie “I didn’t hear a thing.”  
It’s easier than considering the alternative- all you can think of right now? Ghosts. The forest may be thick and dark, but you can’t shake the feeling that you would be able to see someone sneaking up.  
“Hello.”  
This time, the voice is clear as day and coming from right behind you. Dave lets out a little yelp and pivots under your hand. You follow him and find yourself face to face with what looks like an axe murderer.  
The axe is slung over one shoulder, and the lantern hangs from the other. It is a woman.  
Dressed in a great-coat buttoned up to her chest, the woman’s form is bulky and somehow misshapen. It sticks out at angles that you’ve never seen a body manage before. Hopefully, she’s just wearing some kind of prickly armour underneath her coat. Either that or she’s a lobster monster and you’re taking your little brother through Dante’s seven-layered hell. You are almost as tall as her, but this does little to make you feel better. Her hair is short and curly and white, squished underneath a black cap that is mostly pulled down over her face. A pair of keen, bright, red eyes peer out at you from a wan, grey-fleshed face.

This is the most unnerving of all. You have only ever seen those kind of eyes staring at you from you own brother’s face. It makes you glad that he’s wearing his shades, if only because it keeps the woman from seeing they share an eye colour.  
“Chopping wood for the winter?” your voice is surprisingly smooth and confident, despite the overwhelming urge you’re feeling right now to run the fuck away and stick your head in the dirt.  
The woman is quiet.  
You gesture helplessly towards the axe “We heard the tree fall.”  
“Are you lost?” she asks.  
There’s something about her tone of voice that makes you want to tell her you know exactly where you’re going. Her voice reminds you of the pages of a book being flipped fast in a dusty, stale room.  
“Yeah,” pipes up Dave “We’ve been walking on that road.”  
The woman follows his finger to the path a short distance away. Her eyes grow wide, but she says nothing. She is quiet again.  
“Is this your house?” asks Dave.  
“I found it abandoned.”  
You’re tempted to ask if she convinced the former occupants to ‘abandon’ the place by setting it on fire.  
You force yourself to speak “Could you point us to the main road, please? We’ve been walking for a long time and there’s no end in sight.” you gesture to Dave “He needs to get somewhere warm.”  
“There’s a fire inside,” says the woman “I have work to do. There’s a great deal I must do before the day is up, but if you just let me…I’ll take you to the main path myself.”  
Your stomach flips.  
A siren goes off in your head. Can anything about this situation scream stranger danger any louder?  
That voice you and Dave both heard- it was right to mutter idiot at you, because you nod, and you follow her into the house with Dave trailing behind you.  
A part of you hopes there is something that is so obviously wrong with the place it gives you an excuse to sling Dave over your shoulder and run screaming. The stuffed statue of a person languishing in the hall. Blood-stains carpeting the floor, painting the walls. A dead animal waiting to be skinned.  
What she leads you into is a house that you would expect one of the Famous Five to stumble across. The décor is old-fashioned and simple. There’s a wide, open room with a cold fireplace, a large table surrounded by many chairs and a long dresser with a couple of ceramic figurines sitting on it. The staircase leads up into a gaping darkness. A dry breeze whistles up from the second layer of the house, making you feel slimy as it washes over you.  
The woman crouches in front of the fireplace and reaches into her pocket. The pocket must be deep, because she manages to pull out a log at least half as thick as Dave and a bed of twigs for it to go on. After she has built a tent-shaped pile of wood there, she begins to strike two rocks together for a spark.  
“Why don’t you light it from the lantern?” suggests Dave.  
Her shoulders tense up like she has been struck in the middle of the back “Why?”  
“It would be faster.”  
You glance down at him and shake your head.  
“Faster isn’t better.”  
For at least half a moment, the only noise in the house is that of the wind whistling through the wreck upstairs and the rocks clicking together. Finally, a little fire starts to flicker in the heart of the twig pile. It travels quickly and has engulfed the bigger log in no time.  
Sighing, the woman relaxes onto her knees. She spins around and settles herself cross-legged, staring at the two of you as if she has never seen anything stranger.  
“So,” she covers a yawn with her hand “You’re lost, yes?”  
“We’re more turned around than we are lost,” you say, reluctant to agree with her “If there’s a phone or a main road nearby…I’m sure I can get us home from there.”  
“You have no idea where you are, do you?”  
Dave sighs through his nose “Course not. We’re lost.”  
You pinch his shoulder. He pokes you hard in the leg behind his back in retaliation, but you manage to keep yourself from smacking the back of his head as you long to do.  
You don’t like the way the woman is looking at you. Although you’re not sure how to describe it, you know you don’t like it at all. You won’t feel safe as long as those eyes are trained on you.  
“How did you come to be here?”  
“We just ended up here.” you say, unwilling to reveal anymore.  
What business of it is hers? The less she knows about you and Dave, the better.  
She rocks back towards the fire, as if this is what she expected to hear “Let me guess, you’ve been on that road ever since? There’s no end in sight?”  
“Uh, yeah. Why? Does it go in a circle or something?”  
She shakes her head “That road was not made with an end. You’ll be wanting the other paths, deeper into the woods.”  
Panic stabs at your chest “Where will that take us? Is there a city nearby?”  
The woman stands up suddenly. You usher Dave backwards, then to the side as she walks past you.  
“These woods are no place for children. They are haunted.”  
Dave is more excited than scared by this notion “By ghosts? We heard-”  
You turn his face to your side, muffling his voice “Are you telling us we’re in danger?”  
She throws the door open “The beast is always hunting. You and your brother will be safe if you stay here while I finish with my work, then I will help you as best I can.”  
“What exactly are you working on?” you ask.  
“Chopping wood,” she repeats your words mechanically “For the winter.”  
The door slams shut.  
Your legs turn to water. You stagger over to a low couch that is pushed against the wall and slump onto it a moment before your legs would have given out on their own. Happy to leave you there, Dave waltzes over to the fire and sticks his hands out to warm them. The frog slips out of the back of his shirt and hops across the floor onto a roughly made coffee table, where it seems content to sit and mutter at the back of its throat.  
The low, grey ceiling swims in front of your eyes. Although you’re not hungry or sick, tired or even fatigued, it feels like every single second of the suffering you should be feeling has come back all at once. Not as a physical sensation. It’s more like a concentrated nausea. You grope around the ground, searching for something to puke in.  
“Dave,” you wheeze “Do you still need to pee?”  
“Nah.”  
“Did you already go?”  
He snorts “Nah. But you almost did when that lady showed up. Is she a code Usain or what?”  
“Do you feel ok?”  
He looks back at you “Yeah, but you look like you’re going to die. Hey Bridgette, get back here!”  
“Let it be.” you press the heel of your hand into your forehead “Oh my God I’m gonna puke. Find me a bucket.”  
“You’re not gonna puke.”  
“I’m gonna puke.”  
“You’re just freaking out.”  
“Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do you little knob, just get me something I can safely deposit my vomit in.”  
He doesn’t. He watches you with the kind of anticipation he watches for the mailman so he can play his record of a large dog barking viciously to scare the shit out of the poor, under-paid shit. Eventually, the nausea fades into a much more familiar sense of dread. It’s all cold and solid, kind of like the skin that forms on top of a soup. Every time you hear the axe striking into the fallen tree, there’s a sharp pang in your belly.  
You have got to get out of here.  
You are not going to wait around in this half-burnt house to rely on the testimony of a woman that looks like she’s sharing her coat with a cactus and carries an axe as casually as old men carry a walking stick.  
Dave wanders around the room once it becomes obvious that you’re just going to lie there.  
After a moment, he comes to your side with a solemn report “They don’t have a phone or a TV or anything with wi-fi or electricity.”  
“Well it’s a goddamned good thing we don’t need to plug me in to the wall to recharge my brain. ‘Cuz that’s how we’re getting out of here.” you tap your temple “With cunning.”  
“Should we run away?”  
You shake your head “I don’t know. I just…she was probably making up the beast, just to scare us into staying here…but it’s totally possible there’s a giant bear or wolves wandering around here, just aching to make a meal of us.”  
Dave pauses “Or Stephen King.”  
You laugh and ruffle his hair “Yeah, lil’ man, either way it’s gonna be terrifying and sure to kill us.”  
“I’m not tired,” he says proudly “Not even a little bit. I can run.”  
“We should at least see these roads she means, first. I mean, she’s probably as nutty as squirrel crap, but we gotta be sure. Home could be just around the corner.”  
Dave sits on the floor in front of you and manipulates your hand so that you’re patting him some more “I’ll bet you heard stories about this lady at school.”  
“No, but I did hear stories about something even scarier.” You lean down to whisper in his ear “Maybe the beast she meant…maybe the thing that preys on children…is Slenderman.”  
His face bleaches of all colour as he slaps your arm “Don’t be stupid! He’s fake!”  
“Maybe not.” you waggle your fingers and start to hum the ‘X-Files’ theme song “Better watch out Dave. Slendy likes his meals small and tender. That’s how he keeps so thin, you know, with tiny portions. He won’t want a thing to do with me. Not with this tower of sinewy tallness and awesome that is my meat-sack.”  
“Shut up Dirk. You’re just making stuff up because you want me to be more scared than you are.”  
You honk his button nose between your knuckles “What makes you think I’m scared? I’m as fearless as I ever was. Big, scary dark woods? Bring it the hell on. I can deal with this.”  
There’s a sudden, insistent tapping at the window that makes you flinch. You swallow the scream to avoid proving Dave right and clutch at your heart, searching for the source of the sound. A bird whose plumage almost matches the shade of the red leaves outside is pecking furiously at the window with its beak. You recognise it as a cardinal.  
It strikes you as kind of weird to see something that is alive after so long alone.  
The bird stops and draws back. It opens its beak, to sing, you think.  
“Let me the hell in already!” it shrieks “We haven’t got much time!”  
Your jaw drops “Holy shit.”  
Dave grins at you, unable to believe his luck “A talking bird!”  
“Yeah, yeah I talk plenty, now open the door!”  
Your brain actually shuts down for a second.  
You cannot process this.  
Too weird. Too fucking weird. You are done. You are officially done with the woman and the forest and the world at large for a couple of seconds.  
No way is this happening.  
“C’mon!” insists the bird “I’m trying to help you dim-wits! You do not want to be here right now!”  
Dave gets up to go to the window, but you snag the back of his jacket and pop his butt down on the ground again.  
You intend to ask it if it is or has anything to do with the beast, but it comes out as : “Birds can’t talk.”  
“Course not!” snaps the cardinal “I’m not a fucking bird, am I genius? Get out of that house!”  
There’s a crunching crash out in the woods like another tree has fallen. The bird startles and takes flight, calling as it goes: “YOU IDIOTS ARE GONNA GET MAULED IF YOU DON’T RUN!”  
Dave squeals both in fear and excitement “Bridgette, can you talk?”  
The frog croaks in a non-committal way.  
“Dave, Dave, get up now, get up get up get up,” you haul him up by the hood and drag him on his heels to the front door, grabbing the frog and stuffing it in your pocket as you go.  
“Code Usain?” he asks, completely delighted by your panic.  
“Fuck that that woman is getting us out of here right now.”  
“That bird talked!” Dave breathes in awe “That is so awesome! Now I don’t have to believe any of the stuff you’ve ever told me about the world! My whole reality has just gone belly-up in the water! Magic is real, I don’t even need to do math anymore. This is great!”  
You throw the door open and tuck Dave under your arm like a barrel, hauling ass around the side of the house. You throw up your hand like a horse’s blinder so you don’t have to look at whatever the hell it is that is crunching around the forest.  
“There’s something in the woods!” you shout.  
The sounds of the axe stops. When you round the corner, you see her poised with the axe raised above her head. She has frozen in almost mid-swing, her mouth open, her face the perfect expression of horror.  
You sense there is something truly huge behind you. Dropping Dave, you push him towards the woman with your foot and look up, very slowly.  
The beast looks back down at you through the thick fur that surrounds its yellow eyes. A string of drool splashes to the ground at your feet.  
“Dave,” you rasp “Code Usain.”


	3. The beast...you think?

Dave runs.  
Not the way you intended him to run, which would be ideally as far the hell away as he can get from this slavering, eight foot monster that hangs over you. No, instead he runs right at you, ducking between your legs before you can even react, and charging the beast. The woodswoman lets out a cry of shock and horror. Dave passes underneath the beast’s belly without having to crouch at all and runs around the side of the house.  
The beast lowers its shaggy head and looks between its four legs. It makes to follow him, but you snatch up a branch from the forest floor and thump it hard in the leg.  
“Not him! Me! I’m bigger, for fuck’s sake!”  
“Get back!” orders the woman.  
She has you by the collar and is dragging you back before you can argue a convincing case to the beast. The moment it sees you have been dragged out of arm’s reach, it loses interest. It doesn’t help that Dave’s screaming in the way only tiny, pre-pubescent boys can around the other side of the house. With a cold dread, you recognise the scream. It’s the ‘follow me!’ scream he uses in the intense games of tag with the neighbourhood kids, when he’s trying to protect a winded teammate by distracting the opposition with his own ass.  
“DAVE! HIDE!” you bellow.  
The beast disappears around the side of the house, growling like thunder.  
You turn to the woman and reach far up to grab her by the collar “What the FUCK is that UNGODLY thing?!”  
Her eyes are wild and scared “The hell if I know!”  
“Are there fucking dire wolves in this forest?! What the fuck is going on? Who the hell are you?!” your eyes slip over her shoulder, attracted by a thick, dark stain seeping into the earth “Why is that tree bleeding oil? No, no, that’s not important, just, fucking, call Animal Control!”  
Her face is blank and uncomprehending. You decide you’ve had enough of her and drop her collar, pushing her prickly body away from yours. Like the idiot you are, you don’t think to take the axe from her. What the hell would you do with that thing anyway? No, it’s better not to have it, you’d just end up getting hurt while you tried to figure out the logistics of it.  
Around the front of the house, the beast is in the process of squeezing its massive girth through the small front door. Folds of fat and furry flesh are pushed up against the sides of the groaning house. It’s kind of ridiculous, the way its huge black paws are scrambling like a puppy trying to find its feet on a smooth tile floor.  
You might be laughing if you weren’t screaming “DAVE!” instead.  
To your immense relief, you hear a piping reply “THIS THING DROOLED ON ME!”  
Thinking quickly, you skirt around the house to the half that has been burnt open. A heap of scorched rubble almost plugs up the hole, but you don’t care about the scrapes and scratches you collect as you scramble over the side. Once inside, you have to scoot down a damp plank of wood that’s been propped up like a slide and almost lose your footing in the huge, swampy puddle that covers the entire floor. The water is soupy with ash and a strange smell, like wet fire, clogs your nose.  
There’s a single, scorched wall blocking your way. From the sounds on the other side you can tell that’s where the beast is, presumably also Dave. You run out of the room and down the hall, skidding into the room just in time to snatch Dave right out of the way of the beast’s jaws.  
“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STANDING THERE FOR?!” you scream as you dart up the stairs, Dave tucked under an arm like Donkey Kong toting Princess Peach.  
Dave is grinning like a moron “THIS IS LIKE A VIDEO GAME!”  
“YOU DON’T GET SPARE LIVES YOU STUPID SHIT!”  
“Oh! Bad word! I’m telling Bro!”  
“YOU CAN TELL BRO WHATEVER SHIT YOU WANT JUST RUN!”  
You put him on his own feet again and he’s off like a shot. The beast finally gets the last of its wide rump through the front door. You can hear its huge tail slapping the ceiling and floors as it wags furiously. It barks once, shaking dust from the roof and soot from the walls.  
Dave claps his hands over his ears and repeats some of the more choice words you have just taught him. You risk a look back and see the beast is now negotiating its way upstairs. God, you’ll be seeing that in your nightmares for a long time. With the plan only half-baked in your head, you push Dave into the burnt wreck of the other half of the house, then gather him to your chest, turning in circles around the holes in the floor as you search for a similar opening in the ceiling. Finally, you spot a patch slightly less dark darkness in the roof.  
On the bright side, the roof isn’t that high, so it’s not that hard to get Dave up there. You grab him under the arms and shove him upwards. He grabs onto the edge of the hole and manages to haul himself upright without the entire thing crumbling to ash under his weight- probably not possible, but neither are talking birds or giant, evil dogs.  
Quickly, you follow him. You shoo him away from the side of the hole when he tries to help. Hot breath washes over your legs. You tug them up and out with literal seconds to spare. The beast’s massive jaws snap shut on the air where they dangled a second before.  
“The mill!”  
“Yes! A mill!” agrees Dave.  
“GET TO THE MILL!”  
He sets off a bit in front of you. Keeping your balance on the roof is a lot harder than you had hoped, what with the slant, the blanket of ash that covers the whole roof, and the tremors coming from the beast that seems to be trying to bash its skull through the wood. Sure enough, just as you have reached the edge of the roof and are close enough to reach out and touch the spinning wheel, the beast’s head explodes out of the roof like an enraged groundhog.  
Dave thinks this an opportune moment to quote one of his favourite movies “’They’re popping outta the snow! Like daisies!’”  
You fold your arms across his chest and pray to something, anything, that at least he’ll get out of this.  
“I’m sorry, Bro, I fucked up.”  
“That’s a terrible frog name.” mutters Dave “It’s Bridgette, get it right. Only I can change the frog’s name.”  
You pick Dave up like you used to when he was a baby, making him face the other way. Cupping the back of his head, you turn it into his shoulder. The frog gets squished up between you and wriggles down your shirt, into your pants.  
You eye the beast sceptically “This is how I die. With a frog in my pants. On a mill-house roof.”  
The beast’s head cuts through the weakened timber like a shark’s fin ploughing through the surf. The gear creaks behind you, and the long drop gapes.  
“I need to pee again,” says Dave.  
“Close your eyes.” you urge.  
“Why? Hey, what the hell is that in your pants?”  
“It’s Bridgette.”  
The beast draws closer and closer with the sound of shredding wood and timber. The entire house shakes beneath you, threatening to give at any second. The beast opens its mouth, its yellow eyes fiery with triumph. You take a step back into empty space.  
Dave shrieks. You land squarely in between two of the gears of the wheel.   
“Shit,” you mutter, only now realising what a stupid idea this was.  
The sides are slippery with the water- that unseen river you predicted had to be there, otherwise how would the wheel be turning? You just couldn’t see it or hear it, but it’s there and you’re going to fall into it without any idea if it’s toxic or deep enough so that you don’t crush every bone in your body when you land.  
“Hang onto me.” you order.  
The beast bursts through the wall that runs up against the gear, showering you with splinters. It peers down.  
“Unzip your stupid skinny jeans,” orders Dave “I need to get Bridgette.”  
The beast jumps. The world tilts on its side and you fall into empty space yet again. The water chills you to the bone and wipes the rest of the world out for a second. You’re only aware of Dave against your chest, struggling for air, or around your hips for the fly of your jeans so he can get the stupid frog- you’re not sure.  
Cold washes over you, but not a physical cold. It’s like the sensation of drinking cold water on a dry throat, feeling it pour down inside you, but in your head. You open your eyes just a slit. The water is not black. The water is clear and dark and a curtain of bubbles, bubbles of the air in your burning lungs, hang miles over your heads.   
You have to get to the surface.  
Faintly, you hear the whistle of a train receding into the distance. A familiar voice calls your name, but you can’t place the voice, or why it seems familiar.  
You open your mouth to respond. Icy water rushes into your nose and mouth, eager to fill your lungs.  
You have to get to the surface. Dave’s fingers scratch at your neck, begging you to save him. You have to get to the surface.

 

Dave is practically launched out of the water by your push. He shoots up like a cork, trailing bubbles and a muted squeak of surprise. There is no bottom to kick off of, so you have to kick furiously to follow. You and Dave reach the surface within seconds of each other. He flounders in the murky film of ash and splinters on the surface. Spitting water, you reach for him the moment you see him. Ash blurs your eyes and stings your tear ducts into action.  
Tears pour down your face.  
“Where’s Jake?” demands Dave.  
“He’s fine! He’s in my pants!”  
Dave’s entire pale face lights up with joy “Jake’s in your pants?!”  
“Not that Jake! Your frog is fine!”  
You push him towards the bank of the river. For a moment, you don’t see the beast at all. Then you catch sight of a lump of black fur and claws being squished between the base of the wheel and the gear nearest to the bottom. A single yellow eye peers out at you, bloated and shocked. You force Dave’s head under the water literally a second before the wheel explodes outwards in all directions.  
The bang is deafening. Large shrapnel splashes in all around you. Something clips the side of your head, making you dizzy. Luckily, it only grazes you.   
Dave tugs on your sleeve, wanting air. Cautiously, you allow yourself to rise to the surface again.   
Where the mill wheel was once is now only a gaping hole in the side of the house. Now, both sides are broken open to the elements. The wheel took most of the roof with it when it snapped off. Many of the windows in the house cracked under the pressure, and several have burst outwards. A pang of guilt strikes you as you see what you have done to the house.  
It’s pretty much destroyed now. Ok, so it’s not like you wandered through rooms full of memories and you definitely know that this was someone’s cherished childhood home, but…  
The cardinal’s first word keeps echoing in your mind.  
“Idiot,” you mutter under your breath.  
Dave starts to shiver.  
By the time you have him on the shore and on his knees, encouraging him to cough up whatever water he has swallowed with hearty slaps on the back, the woods-woman has found you again.  
You scowl up at her through your wet hair “Thanks. You were a pillar of strength.”  
The woods-woman gapes at you “You don’t know what you’ve done.”  
“Can you not shine that stupid lantern in my eye?” you shield your eyes with your free hand “Oh shit, where are my shades? Dave, do you see my shades?”  
Dave spits up a piece of bark into his hands, inspecting it with great interest. He points over at the bank of the river. Twisting around, you scoop them up and frantically rub the lens until you’ve confirmed they are clean and undamaged. All the while, the woods-woman stares at you as if she has never seen anything stranger or more offensive.  
“You don’t know what you’ve done.” she repeats.  
Pushing your shades back into place, you glare at her with a renewed confidence “Uh, yeah, we killed the beast.”   
She shakes her head “That was not the beast.”  
Behind you, the water bubbles. A white head bobs to the surface.  
“A dog!” exclaims Dave. Then he remembers himself and slumps artistically, sniffing “Cool.”  
You gape. The dog paddles to the bank and straightens up.  
“Looks more like a hunting hound to me.” says the woman bitterly.  
The dog opens its jaws delicately and hacks up what looks like a wriggling black stone. The stone drops out of its mouth and disappears into the water- a turtle. The dog gives itself a good shake, spraying all three of you. It pads over to you. You consider smacking it away, since it did just kind of try to eat you. The dog sniffs you, then Dave. Apparently, you’re not very interesting, because it then turns its attentions to the woman.  
Immediately, the dog growls. The growl is far quieter and smaller than the one it could produce when it was about eight times bigger and covered in black fur, but it still has you on your feet and scooting Dave backwards. Hackles up, the dog squares its shoulders and snaps its jaws at the woman. Her expression turns to one of cold distaste. As if lifting a stick to frighten it away, the woman hefts the lantern up at the dog.  
It growls once more, then its courage breaks. The dog’s tail drops between its legs and it runs into the woods, yelping like it was wounded.  
You’re so involved in trying to make sense of this, you don’t notice Dave hands at your fly until he has plunged his cold little hand into your jeans and is rummaging around in your pants.  
“DAVE!” you swat him on the arm “DO NOT- NO NO THAT’S NOT THE FROG DON’T GRAB THAT!”  
“You sound like a chipmunk.” His hand closes around something else and he drags the slimy, wriggling frog out of your jeans “Bridgette, next time you have to help us destroy the baddie. Dirk can’t handle this stress.”  
The woods-woman gapes at you. You drop to your knees, wheezing, then lie on your side and curl up in a ball around the tender zone that Dave has just wounded.  
“Dave,” you rasp “Dave, Bro made me sign a contract promising not to kill you…but if you ever do that again…I will crush your head…between my knees, like an egg.”  
The woods-woman looms over you, the glare of the lantern burning your eyes. You hardly care.  
“You children are doomed.” she says.  
“No we’re not. We’re Dave and Dirk, and this is Bridgette.” retorts Dave.   
From his stance, with his wet hair in his eyes and the frog in a pocket, you get the impression that Dave thinks this is the coolest thing he could have possibly said. You make a mental note to kill him later for defying one of your solemn orders.  
“Get up,” says the woman flatly “You must go.”  
The hell if you’re going to listen to her, after the world of help she was. Fuelled by a burst of spiteful energy, you force yourself to your feet and crack your back.  
“Ok, but before we do that, I want to check inside the house. There might be a change of clothes.” you pluck at your wet shirt “Clearly, we’re not equipped for this weather. We were dressed for school when we got lost.”  
Hopefully, that oh-so subtle hint that there are people to miss you will deter her from doing anything creepy. Ok, so she has had abundant chance to try things so far and nothing has come of it. In fact, all she has done was light you a fire and offer to lead you to an alleged safety. Could be a lot worse.  
Could go a lot worse, too, and you’re not taking any chances with Dave here.  
“There’s a bedroom in the hall, the bedroom of a young man. Assuming you didn’t destroy that as well, you should be able to salvage something for yourselves from there.”  
Dave rushes into the house before you can get your hand on his collar.  
“Dave! Stop it! It’s structurally unsound!”  
He calls back over his shoulder “If it was gonna fall, it was gonna fall when the possessed dog exploded the mill!”  
The trip upstairs is unnerving. At every moment, you’re certain the entire, sagging structure will collapse on your head. You end up having to climb up the banister with Dave on your back, as so many of the steps were shattered by the dog’s struggle upstairs. The woods-woman stands guard at the bottom of the stairs. You leave her leaning upon her axe, looking as if she has just taken Atlas’s burden on her own shoulders.  
Whatever. She didn’t lift a finger to help. Let her stew in her angst. Anyway, that guarding job isn’t going to be very helpful, since the bedroom windows are shattered outwards and both of the far walls of the house have been either burnt off or snapped off. If anything wants to get in, all they have to do is climb in.  
The bedroom is unremarkable, but again, there is something weird you just can’t get your finger on. The furniture is limited to a low bed, a small writing desk with a few books and a single scrap of paper on it, a chair at that desk and one of those long dressers again. Dave goes over to the dresser and starts to pull clothes out of the dresser.  
Against your better judgement, you go over to the paper and read the spidery handwriting that dances erratically all over the sheet. You can tell it was written with one of those old fashioned pen-nibs and an ink well (a quill, thinks the Potterhead in you, a big fat owl’s feather quill), and in great haste.  
“Whatcha got?” asks Dave.  
“’Come wayward souls, who wander through the darkness…There is a light for the lost and the meek, sorrow and fear are easily forgotten when…when you submit to the soil of the earth.’”  
When you look over at Dave, what little colour returned to his cheeks has drained away again.  
He bites his bottom lip “What does that mean?”  
You shrug “Sounds like somebody getting their teen angst out with a poem.”  
“Don’t read it again.”   
“Why not?”  
“Don’t.” he insists “Just don’t.”  
You put the note back down on the desk. Dave relaxes visibly, then holds a shirt up to his chest “Doesn’t this look like it should be in a Peter Jackson movie?”  
The shirt looks too rough to be cotton. Modern cotton at least. Taking the sleeve in your fingers, you rub the fabric and are surprised by the coarseness of the texture. Must be some kind of mega-organic wool.  
“Hey, axe lady!”  
Her reply takes a moment to come “That’s not my name.”  
You hold the shirt against Dave and decide it’s good enough, then help him strip off the shirt and jacket “What do we call you then?”  
“Call me…you don’t need to call me anything.”  
“I can’t just go ‘hey you’ every time I want to talk to you.”  
“Yes you can.”  
Dave chimes in “Give us a clue, or we’ll have to make something up.”  
The sound of her sigh drifts up through the thin floorboards “Then you may call me Woods-woman.”  
Wow, original. It’s not like you haven’t been calling her that in your head since you met her.  
“Good enough!” chirps Dave “Dirk, this has a v-neck. I can’t wear it.  
“That’s a cravat. You can and you will.”  
“It’s too girly.”  
“No, it’s very manly. And anyway, what’s wrong with looking a little girly? Who the heck decides what’s girly?”  
“Alright, alright, don’t lecture me. I’m just saying, you wouldn’t wear a dress out, would you?”  
“Are you kidding me? I cross-dress every Halloween. Man you should have seen the outfit I was gonna wear tonight.”  
“Children,” interrupts the Woods-woman “We haven’t much time.”  
A sense of urgency finally steals over you. You find Dave a pair of coarse pants that need to be cuffed about five times before his little feet will emerge from the bottom. There’s even a coat. That is about his size. The sleeves are a little puffy, like they’re stuffed with down or something, and the buttons are brass. You have never seen anything like the coat outside of a children’s book of fairy tales.  
For yourself, you dig out a black shirt with no cravat, that is cut low across the shoulder and looks more than a little feminine. Whatever. You can deal with being a pretty-boy if it means you don’t freeze your ass off. You also dig find a pair of pants which are much too small for you. You find yourself faced with a choice: parade around God only knows what in short-shorts (and remind yourself of a certain clueless moron stuck firmly in your bad books right now every time you caught sight of your reflection), or you can look for another dresser.  
“Dave, see if you can find a cloak. Do not leave this room. Hand over your heart.”  
He puts his hand over his heart and says sarcastically “I will not leave this room, Captain Dirk. Neither toe nor flipper will steal over that there doorway until you’ve given the orders.”  
Your intuition isn’t just bullshit- you do find a bed room next door. The roof has been ripped off like the lid from a tin can and a liberal coat of ash covers everything. Your hands are blackened as you brush away the ash from yet another identical dresser.  
“I feel like we’re invading the homes of uncreative carpenters.” you shake some water from your hair.  
This batch of clothes is far more promising. There are pants that will fit you, Dave-proofed without zippers, and a belt wound in a coil in with them. Unravelling the belt, you find yourself holding a long strip of leather with a large pouch that will end up on your hip when you put it on. Peering into the pouch, you find a modest collection of berry-sized things that look a little like marbles. Looking at them gives you the same kind of heavy foreboding you get from looking at the bullets for guns, but these are unlike any kind of bullets you have ever seen before.  
Nevertheless, you’ll hold onto them. You pick out several shirts and pairs of pants, along with a few short-sleeved shirts you can use as double layers if it gets too cold. You can’t believe your luck when you find a great black travelling cloak in the bottom drawer.  
“Holy shit,” you hold it up.  
The long folds of the cloak almost reach the floor when you hold it over your head. Experimentally, you wrap it around yourself and extend your arms, appreciating the way it falls around you. It looks as if you are dressed in a cloak of liquid ink.  
“Well, I’ve already destroyed their house and terrorised their dog. Might as well follow through and rob these poor shits as well.”  
“Dirty word!” calls Dave.  
“I don’t mean to be rude, but could you move a little faster? If you want to reach a town before night falls you will need the daylight hours!” adds the Woods-woman.  
“Sassy, impatient bitches,” you mutter under your breath.  
Dave’s right. Dressed up in this stuff, you do look kind of like an extra in a Peter Jackson movie. Well, with this cloak on, more like a gothic hero full of dark secrets to angst over and be super interesting with. Maybe that’s not a bad look, considering the holiday you and Dave will be missing out on while you try to find your way home.  
Maybe you can make this whole ordeal into a giant Halloween game for him?  
Dave has a lot to say about the cloak.  
“You look like a super-villain.”  
“I am a super-villain. The entire family are super-villains. Me and Bro are training you up for The Life, lil’ man. For your initiation, you’re gonna kill James Bond with a corkscrew.”  
He makes a disgusted face. You grab the wet clothes from the floor and search for something to put them in. Eventually, you locate something that might be a back-pack pushed underneath the bed. There’s a fine layer of dust on it along with the ash, which seems to have gotten everywhere. You drop the wet clothes in, determined to dry them out later. That’s your favourite jacket in there, the one with the dumb red wing pattern on the back that is both ironically terrible and genuinely wonderful.   
On second thought, it’s Jake’s favourite on you, so you might just throw the whole bag into the ash-choked river.  
On an impulse, you also snatch up the paper and stuff it deep into your pocket where you won't have to think about it for a while.  
The Woods-woman says nothing when you and Dave come downstairs, but she obviously approves.  
“I said I would guide you.”  
You nod “Yeah. That’s a relief, actually, since I was afraid we were lost in here or something-”  
“But I changed my mind.”  
You stare at her “S’cuse me?”  
Her face is perfectly grim “After that? I don’t think it’s in my best interests to follow you. My work is here.” she nods towards the outside. You know she means the tree she chopped down.  
The tree that bled oil. Your glimpse of it was only brief, but you could have sworn the bark of the thick, mottled trunk was warped into a scream.  
“What do you want us to do, then? Wander around? In a place we know nothing about?”  
“Yeah,” adds Dave gravely “Maine is a dangerous place. Stephen King lurks around every corner.”  
The Woods-woman pulls her cap low over her eyes. Then she takes it off and pops it on your head. For a moment, you’re certain that teeth will sprout from the hem of the hat and bite your head open. Then your attention is captured by something that out-does the endless road, the talking bird and the goddamned devil dog.  
“You have horns?” says Dave questioningly.  
Her hand goes to one of the things that grow from her head. They’re quite large, actually. You’re surprised the hat managed to cover them at all. The horns are smooth and white, twisting in on themselves in shapes that mirror each other and remind you of the blade of a cork-screw.   
“I’m rather surprised you don’t.” she counters “The mill that you destroyed-”  
“The dog thing did that.”  
“You helped it,” she runs her fingers through her white hair, as if self-conscious of her horns “The mill you destroyed is what has kept me going for some time. I have to salvage what I can while I have the time.”  
Her eyes are drawn to the lantern, which she has placed in front of the fire. You’re surprised and a little scared that the fire has stayed in the fireplace after the commotion you just survived.  
“Fair enough,” Dave shrugs “Where do we go?”  
You shoot him a warning look.  
“What? We messed up, Dirk. The woman has work to do. We came in here and killed her house and mill and stuff. I’m just happy she isn’t coming after us with the axe.”  
The Woods-woman’s expression is dark “Believe me, it has crossed my mind.”  
“Ok, yeah, we’ll leave now, thanks.”  
You take Dave by the collar and drag him out the door. Bridgette is safely tucked into the cravat of his new shirt- at least he found a use for it. The Woods-woman follows you at a respectful distance. At least she has twigged onto how badly she’s freaking you out.  
She gestures to the river “I don’t know if you can see the river there, but if you follow it for a few miles you will reach a less dense part of the forest. From there, you will find the path. The real paths, not that stretch of nothing you were on earlier.”  
You can’t help but break in “What do you mean? What’s wrong with that road?”  
She shrugs “There is no need for it. That’s all. Anyway, if you use keep following that path you can find some of the towns in the North. The other paths will take you other ways. Don’t worry about getting lost from there. Almost all of them loop back on themselves to bring you to the centre.”  
A prickling sense of unease climbs your spine “How are we going to get anywhere if the roads all take us to the same place.”  
“You will be helped.”  
“By who?”  
“That is your choice. You should only accept the help of those you trust.”  
“Like you?”  
She blinks “Well, you have to start somewhere.”  
You just want to get away from her.  
As you turn away from the wrecked mill-house, Dave takes your hand without being asked. He pets the frog’s head and is rewarded with a ribbit.  
The Woods-woman calls after you “Whatever you do, avoid the Inn at all costs!”   
You file that cryptic tidbit away for digestion later, when you actually have a faint idea of what the hell she mean.  
You don’t look back until you’re sure the mill-house will be out of sight.

 

“Well done.”  
In the past, her eyes would have welled up. Her bottom lip would have shaken with the effort not to cry in front of him. But now, the stabbing guilt she once felt as she sent a new child into their doom has dulled to an ache. The ache is centred around her gut and makes every step echo. It is enough, now, to listen to the echo of her own footsteps when she feels on the verge of tears in front of him.  
“They’re corpses on legs, you know. Dead kids walking. Don’t get too attached, fergodssakes woman, they’re just some more brats. I’ll admit I was kinda impressed when the big one came up with that plan, but from the look on his face? I’d say Blondie was making it up as he went. He’s full of doubts. Doubts and love sickness and strange, fizzy juice.”  
“It’s called blood.” she replies tartly.  
“No, not that. I know what blood is. Didn’t you smell that orange syrup on him? Never mind, I should know by now that you don’t pay attention to them. The little details are what makes it special, you know. That’s how I can tell all of those poor bastards apart when I look back.”  
“I have work to do.”  
“So work. We can talk and work. Surely you’re not so stupid that you can’t swing an axe while I talk to you, are you?”  
“No.”  
“Little louder.”  
“No. No I’m not.”  
“Good. Now let’s talk about what we’re going to do with those boys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be clear, that note that Dirk reads is a direct quote of the Beast's song 'Come wayward souls'


	4. Little fat birds with Mohawks

“Sharon.”  
“Nah. That’s a bad name.”  
“I like it.”  
“Well then your taste needs some refining. I can’t blame you. You’ve only been around for seven years, and our family ain’t exactly the textbook example of high arts.”  
“What about Bob?”  
“Dude, be creative. There’s a child’s mind knocking around between your ears, allegedly.”  
“If I don’t have a brain, then how am I breathing?”  
“Dunno. Habit?”  
“What? That doesn’t even make sense.”  
“All I’m saying is that you don’t have to stick to normal names. I liked Zeus Ferguson.”  
“I was just joking.”  
“Well, joke some more then. Make it an irony training exercise. God knows your genius is lost on those snot-nosed brats you run with, but I’m sure there are some smart people out here. Assuming people are even a thing out here. Somebody will appreciate the whole ‘oh look at me I’m a tiny human and that’s cute for some reason’ shtick taped over the cool-kid thing. I will, at least. I’ll be giggling behind my hand the whole time if you can pull this off. Practice, man, practice.”  
“You just want a stupid name for the frog.”  
“Yeah, that too.”  
“Fine. Let’s see how stupid I can stupid.”  
“That grammar right there is a pretty darned good start.”  
“Try this one on for size…Penguin.”  
“Boring.”  
“Uh….wow this is stretching me. That’s a good sign, right?”  
“You’ll need to pick up your slack, lil’ man. A Strider’s gotta be able to dial it back to blend in with the normals.”  
“How about Tracey Turnip?”  
“Relying on alliteration for cuteness? Kinda weak.”  
“Cut me some slack. Trying to be dumb is a lot harder than it looks.”  
“You’ll get into the swing of it. You used to call your teddy bear Mr Snoofle Buzzle-Barnes. That kind of stuff is an inherent talent. You can’t learn that.”  
“Where did he get to anyway?”  
“You threw him away when you found out Peter Pan was a work of fiction and not a creative auto-biography. Bro’s got him waiting in a closet for the day you decide you want to be a child again.”  
“Beans. I gotta get him back. Let’s see….how about Officer President?”  
“Just stupid enough to make me cringe but sweet enough to make me smile.”  
You offer your fist to Dave to bump. He regards your outstretched fist as if you have offered him as if it’s the Holy Grail. Solemnly, he makes a fist with his little hands and bumps it against your knuckles.   
A milestone has been passed. A moment has been had. Dave is now one step closer to a fully-fledged Striderhood, and it’s almost brought tears to his eyes.  
The newly christened Officer President is nestled in Dave’s hood. If you knew for sure that frogs could sleep, you would swear that this one is. At this point you’re unsure if frogs even have eyelids. Whenever that thing stares at you, it does so unblinkingly, peeling back the layers of tissue and fat to have a good luck at whatever lurks in your soul. If Dave were taking your naming suggestions, you would call the frog Pazuzu or Lucifer. All-seeing-master-of-darkness. Something like that.  
Now that the issue of the frog’s name is settled (for the moment anyway), Dave begins to dwell on what you have been trying to distract him from with this little game and others like it.  
“How long have we been walking?”  
You do a pretend calculation on your fingers “What’s double infinity?”  
Dave rolls his eyes behind his shades “It’s not getting any darker, that’s all. I don’t know if the sun sets this far North, does it? It stays up all the time in Alaska. Never goes down.”  
“Who told you that?”  
“Dude, it’s the second thing you learn in kindergarten. Right after what life is like in Maine. Where were you during your education?”  
You were staring at the back of Jake English’s perfectly shaped head and wondering what your babies with him were going to look. Obviously, this was a time of innocence. Back when you thought that men could have babies together the same way the much more popular, socially acceptable mommy-daddy combo had babies- by the Stork Deliveries Limited, duh. Back when you wanted to be with Jake from the current moment to however much time you had left in your life span.  
“I was doodling in my exercise book. It’s what all good kids do.”  
Dave loses interest. He peers up along the path. Up ahead is the same endless stretch of autumn colours and dirt road. The river rushes alongside the path, separated by a narrow aisle of reeds. Every now and then, Dave will reach over and snap one off. He uses the reed as a sword, if you’re giving dissatisfactory answers or as a conductor’s baton if you’re humming something. You have convinced him that the river is full of crocodiles, so he doesn’t go near it. Well, you haven’t convinced him, you merely suggested it and he tends to take most of your warnings very seriously.  
“I have to pee.”  
Your heart sinks “Alright, pick a tree.”  
“I’m kidding. Keeping you on your toes, big bro. That’s all.”  
Fixing him with a glare, you sigh inwardly. The last thing you want to do right now is stop. The Woods-woman could be any distance behind you. With the sun remaining stubbornly in place, it could be any number of hours since you set out. Or it could be less than an hour, for all you know. You have lost all track of time. When you think back over your little games and conversations with Dave, each one seems inconsequentially small and impossible to judge time by.   
All you know for sure is that you’re not going to go back to the mill-house or the horned woman who haunts it.  
Horned women, devil dogs and talking cardinals.  
You really need to figure out where you are.  
“Hey! I see a fence!”  
Dave dashes forward, towards the first break in the tree-line you have seen since you set foot on this dirt path after following the river. The relief- it’s like looking and looking for someone in a thick crowd in a busy public place, and finally finding them in the original place you had agreed to meet. You follow Dave, matching his pace easily with your longer legs. The cloak billows out behind you and you are painfully aware that you are either the picture of awesome right now, or look like a kid playing dress-up.  
The fence Dave has found is low and neatly white-washed; a sure sign of civilization. You look around, expecting Tom Sawyer to come bursting out of the dark underbrush brandishing a pot of paint and a wet paintbrush. Close to the fence is a sign-post, and when you see this, your eyes actually become wet. Scrubbing the tears away with your sleeve, you plant your hand in the middle of Dave’s back and steer him over to the sign.  
“’Pottsfield’.” he reads “’Two miles’, thattaway.” he points in the same direction that the tapered sign points.  
“With any luck, they’ll have a phone.”  
Dave clucks his tongue “I dunno. They don’t have any power lines out here.”  
You decide not to chide him for repeating the same thing you noticed about the mill-house. You’ll let him feel smart, because it is smart to remember that. No matter how far on you walk, you haven’t seen a single hint of technology of any kind. Then again, there haven’t been any towns so far. But there should be something out here. A satellite dish. A single, fucking cord carrying any kind of electricity would be really really nice.  
If you could locate just one goddamned cord, you’d follow it all the way to its source and get help there, and you wouldn’t care if it lead you to a fucking murderer’s shack. You would like, fight the psycho to the death with Dave holding the frog safe on the side-lines, if it means that you can place the call to your father. His wrath might actually prove to be scarier than anything this weird place can dish out.  
“Alright, stick close to me.”   
Dave interrupts before you can really get into the lecture “Sure, I get it. Stay close to you. Don’t talk to strangers. Don’t say my name.”  
You nod “In fact, why don’t you let me walk a little bit ahead? Just in case I need to shove you into a bush and pretend you don’t exist or something.”  
Furrowing his brow, Dave glances along the path “What if there are ninjas hiding in the trees? What if I get kidnapped?”  
“Then I’ll squish them in a mill.”  
So you set out again. Dave walks about 10 feet behind you. He calls the frog Officer President and expresses his sadness that you didn’t manage to find a cool frog outfit for him, promising to make a cape as soon as he finds a rag of suitable size.  
Soon, the trees begin to thin along the fence. The path becomes hard-packed earth with far less stones to stumble over. The kind of ground that many feet have walked over. With every step, your hope of a rescue grows. You can already hear the way your father will berate you for getting so lost with Dave. How long has it been- a day? That misadventure at the mill, adding the walks that lead to it and away from it towards Pottsfield, must have at least taken the entire morning.  
At last, the trees give away. Folding out in front of you are a series of small hills. Each one has been razed of the forest and planted with corn. The stalks are tall, bursting with golden fruit and so thick it reminds you of a sea as the wind skims across the surface of the cornfields. On the hill furthest from you, you see a town.  
“There it is.”  
The town is composed of low, timber buildings of a similar style to the mill. They are all blocky and have triangular roofs. They look to you the way you had always imagined the log cabin of legend that Abe Lincoln was born in would look. One of the buildings is taller than the rest. Some kind of town hall? It is equipped with a bell mounted at the highest point on the building. Despite the winds, the dull bell remains absolutely still.  
“No power lines, Dave. Still, they must have some road into a bigger town. Do you see anyone?”  
As far as you can see, the streets are all deserted. There are only a few roads, though, and all of them meet in a town square in the middle of the town, just in front of the hall with the bell.  
“Dave?”  
You turn around. Behind you, the path is empty.  
“Dave? Make some noise!”  
“SHIT!”  
Far from what you expected, but you follow the noise anyway.  
You back-track quickly, scanning the brush on either side for the flash of his blond head.  
“Dave! Keep talking to me!”  
“OW! Be careful!”  
You realise now that the voice you are hearing is not Dave’s. It belongs to someone closer to your age.   
The cardinal! The cardinal? Why does the cardinal sound like a teenager?  
“Dave!”  
A hand shoots out of the bush behind you and grabs you by the edge of your cloak “I’m right here!”  
He peers up at you from his knees. You cuff him over the head.  
“Don’t just run off!”  
“I said I was going!”  
“Well next time make sure I hear and take me with you!”  
“Uh, little help in here, please, if it’s not a strain on your physical capacities.”  
“God, Dave, you can’t just wander off I might never find you-”  
You stop and peer into the bush. The cardinal is strung up in a nest of thorns, obviously in a great deal of discomfort. Its wings are tangled in the thorny vines and wrenched backwards at an awkward angle. You never thought of birds as animals that could do facial expressions. You’ve seen dogs that can grin and cats that can pull those disgusted faces with the wrinkled noses and multiple chins.  
But this is the first time you’ve been scorched by a scornful glare from a bird.  
“Uh,” is just about all you can coax out of your gaping mouth.  
“You,” barks the cardinal “The tiny one! You are now designated as ‘the smart one’. C’mon, smart one, get me out of here while your idiot companion gawks like he’s never seen a talking bird before.”  
Its tone is so scathing it burns you right out of the surprised stupor “Excuse you, but I haven’t.”  
The cardinal blinks- another eerily human gesture “Oh yeah? Then you must be going around with your hands over your eyes. Or are those glasses too dark?”  
“Leave him Dave.”  
Panic- actual panic from a fucking bird- flits across the cardinal’s sharp features for a moment, but he brings it under control “Is that really what you wanna teach the little guy? Spite-kill all those who oppose or insult? Wow are you brutal. I think I’d rather stay jammed in these thorns than take my chances with you and your creepy glasses and fucking monster cloak.”  
“I’ll help you,” says Dave civilly “If you take back that thing about the shades.”  
Wriggling, the cardinal attempts to draw its wing away from a thorn that is pushing through the feather-tips “I am entitled to my own opinions, thanks very much.”  
Dave folds his arms stubbornly “Alright. You can think about how right you are in there, with the thorns then.”  
The bird chirps in what you think might be disgust. It relieves you so much to hear it make a genuine bird noise you want to cry.  
“I take it back! Happy?”  
“Good enough.”  
Reaching in carefully, Dave peels the bird’s wings away from the thorns. He cups his hand under the cardinal so it can stand up. The cardinal shivers, its feathers trembling in that way the birds which come to the park’s fountain to drink will do to dry themselves. The bird makes itself very small so Dave can draw it out of the thorns carefully.  
Once out, the cardinal flares its wings and shakes its head once more.  
“Thanks.” says the bird with feeling. It hops from Dave’s hands to perch on the thornless branches towards the top of the bush “So, are you kids lost or whatever?”  
“Are you a boy or a girl?” asks Dave.  
By way of explanation, he produces Officer President from his hoodie and shows it to the cardinal. Giving Dave a sceptical look, the cardinal picks the tip of a thorn from his breast.  
“My frog is unsure.” explain Dave “Do you know what you are?”  
“I’m a boy,” says the cardinal shortly “Do you have any idea where you’re going?”  
“To Pottsfield.”  
You’re going to have to have a talk with Dave about sharing information. Still, he’s already given away most of what you wanted to hide, so you might as well put the last nail in the coffin “I’m Dietrich. This is my brother, Dave, and his frog Officer President.”  
“That may change.” adds Dave “The frog’s name.”  
“Don’t care.” says the cardinal.  
Dave refuses to be ignored or hampered “What’s your name?”   
The cardinal lets out an ear-splitting whistle. You clap your hands over Dave’s ears. He claps his hands over approximately where Officer President’s ears should be.  
When the whistle stops, Dave announces “You need a nickname!”  
“I need a nickname? I’m impressed you, the big one, that you even leave the house with that kind of name hanging over your head.”  
You hold your hand up in a gesture of surrender “It’s German, dude. My family is painfully German. Ain’t my fault I got saddled with it. Blame the Germans.”  
The bird blinks “Am I supposed to know what those are?”  
“Germany’s a small river in Spain,” Dave informs him “It’s famous for its huge population of sausage fish.”  
The ignorance is stunning. Sounds like Dave is sleeping in Geography again. You can forgive the cardinal for not knowing what Germany is, being that he’s a fucking bird.  
“So, you’re ok now?”  
The cardinal shrugs- actually shrugs with his little birdie shoulders “Well I’m not stuck in a thorn-bush. Life is terrible and I have to eat worms and sleep in trees and shit every time I want to take off, but as long as I’m not in any excruciating or immediate pain, who gives a fuck?”  
Man, those Disney princesses have their work cut out for them when they sweet-talk birds and the wildlife.  
“We should go. I mean, as long as you’re ok. Hope that shitting to achieve flight goes well for you.”  
Instead of taking flight and GTFO-ing like you hope he will, the cardinal hops onto Dave’s shoulder “I’m going the same way. Pottsfield is the on the way to where I’m going.”  
“Where are you going?” asks Dave, apparently unconcerned to be used as a perch for something that has just admitted to shitting every time it takes flight.  
“To Adelaide. The Good Woman of the woods.”  
“Good Woman of the woods?” you repeat, stressing the capitols as he did “What does she do, apart from be good?”  
“She helps the lost.”  
Your heart skips a beat. You’re unsure of what to say, so an epic snark fills the place of something useful “I thought birds had an innate sense of direction.”  
He huffs through his fat beak “Not like that, you moron. I’m lost, like you two losers.”  
“We’re not that lost. Not for much longer.”  
You gesture towards the town. The cardinal follows your finger and stares at the distant Pottsfield for a moment.  
He scoffs “You think those people will help you?”  
His tone sends a shiver up your spine. Scorn, which seems to be his permanent setting, combined with a dash of pity and a somewhat larger dash of alarm. What does he know that you don’t?  
“What do you mean?” you ask as your stomach churns “Is it safe?”  
The cardinal shrugs again “I don’t know…I just know they’re not going to be that helpful, if you want to get home. Where is home for you anyway?” his eyes linger on the ink-black cloak and seem to soften “Usually I can tell, but there’s something wrong about you.”  
“Wrong or different?” asks Dave, returning Officer President to his hood.  
The cardinal replies without hesitation “Wrong. Definitely wrong.”  
Before, you were sceptical of letting the rude cardinal accompany you. At worst he’d turn out to be some kind of flesh-eater in disguise. At best he’d prove to be just foul-mouthed and teach Dave a lot of words that he shouldn’t know for at least another ten years. But now that you’re sure he knows stuff that you don’t, you feel obliged to take him with you.  
It might even be worth investigating this Adelaide woman, if Pottsfield doesn’t pan out. Still, she sounds kind of like a bullshit shaman or a cult leader looking to recruit.  
“My name is Dirk, by the way.”  
The cardinal takes this as permission to alight on your shoulder. For a moment, the two of you hold eye contact. He’s a funny shape, kind of squat and fat like an over-grown bumble-bee, and the little red Mohawk of feathers on the back of his head doesn’t make you want to take him very seriously. His eyes are strange, though. You could swear that cardinals all have those beady black eyes that birds are supposed to have.  
Maybe it’s just a thing that everyone in this region, the Unknown, has red eyes, like you and Dave? That’s creepy. Maybe you’re not as German as you think.  
You start to walk towards the town. Dave falls in step and, once again forgetting himself, slips his hand into yours. He swings your hand back and forth between you.   
“My name is Karkat,” says the cardinal in your ear “And I can fly, by the way.”  
Karkat jumps off your shoulder and flies at a leisurely pace at about chest-height on you.  
“What a weird name.” mutters Dave.  
Pottsfield grows closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I recommend that everyone goes and Googles what a cardinal looks like now? It is slightly hysterical.


	5. Either a cult or a colony for people with scarecrow fetishes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I've got my wi-fi back and I survived 3 days or so of constant travel, flights and lay-overs in a single pair of jeans.   
> To celebrate, let's see what happens when you add Striders to Pottsfield  
> All bad things I trust

Your name is Dirk Strider and your first impression of Pottsfield is common to the feeling of unease and suspicion that assails you every time you enter a graveyard.  
Unease because you are painfully aware of being possibly the only thing with a pulse in the entire plot of land. Suspicion because a small part of you has never been able to let go of your belief in the things that hide under beds and in closets, even with the number of times Bro has proved your fears wrong with flashlights. You’re always certain that, while you might not be suddenly attacked and scared witless, there is something behind the nearest graveyard or lurking in a nearby shadow that would do exactly that, if it wanted to.  
The buildings and streets are silent. In the winds, the bell on top of the town-hall remains immobile. The architecture is claustrophobic now that you’re down among the buildings. They have ceased to be rustic and charming, and have taken on a creepy quality you can neither explain nor justify. The trip into town has set you right on edge. Ranks and ranks of whispering corn, on all sides, forming a kind of corn tunnel.  
In the total silence that hangs over this town, your buzzing mind was free to invent whatever it wanted to to fill up the quiet. You thought you heard everything from a voice asking someone to pass the popcorn to the whistle of a steam train. You are, however, fairly certain that you are being watched right now.  
None of the houses are occupied, as far as you can tell. Curtains frame every window, but there is not a single window over which they are drawn. Standing at the mouth of the town, you gather your courage and approach the first house on the left.  
Dave has attached himself to the sleeve of your trousers. He is mostly concealed in the wide folds of the cloak. Karkat sticks close too. It would seem that he is only aware that Pottsfield is a place- he knows no more than you do as to what he should expect from these empty streets. Officer President hasn’t croaked once since you entered the corn fields.  
Your hand freezes as you reach to knock on the door. You can’t do it. You just can’t force yourself to do it.  
“I’m not scared.” says Dave.   
“What?”  
“Just thought you’d wanna know. I’m not scared.”  
“Knock already,” urges Karkat.  
You knock.  
The door creaks open at your touch. The shriek of the wood sets your teeth on edge, like smelling a sour fruit.   
The inside of the house is dark, and the hall leads into an old-fashioned kitchen with one of those giant metal stoves in the corner and all kinds of spices and herb-looking things hanging from the ceiling in bouquets. The table is occupied by a turkey so huge you cannot think of any other explanation other than it fell into a nuclear reactor. Seriously, that thing could pull a cart.  
The turkey’s neck is slumped over the table in a way that reminds you of a neck on an executioner’s block. Twitching, it looks up at you with an unblinking, beady stare.  
You get the impression you have just done something similar to walking in on a shower.  
“Uh, sorry.”  
Quickly, you close the door and usher Dave away, onto the main road again.  
His eyes have gone round behind his shades “Is that a monster?”  
“No, it was just a big turkey,” replies Karkat “Haven’t you seen one of those big bastards before?”  
Your throat is painfully dry “Where do they come from?”  
“Who knows? Stuff just happens here.”  
“In Pottsfield?”  
Karkat rolls his eyes “In the Unknown.”  
Dave points at the town-hall “Let’s go there.”  
His little legs carry him off down the main street at a surprising pace. You have to run to catch up to him. A wall of sound washes over you.   
“I hear people singing!” announces Dave “Kinda not badly either.”  
Your teeth are on edge. Dave darts away from your outstretched hand and to the town-hall before you can protest.  
“You need a leash for that one.” remarks Karkat drily “Something good and tight around his neck.”  
You flash him a look of disgust before you give the chase. Dave beats you up the steps of the hall. The noise of the choir swells, accompanied by one or two fiddles too.  
Rather than throwing the double doors open as you are sure his Strider-flare will demand he does, Dave pushes one door open just a crack, and very slowly so it produces no noise. He peers inside and withdraws his head after a second. He is not pale with fear or anything, but he looks more confused than the time he learned that girls can’t pee standing up.  
You creep over to the door and peer over his shoulder. Karkat alights on yours. All three of you look in again.  
After a moment, your eyes have gone dry from staring and Karkat has become fluffy in an attempt to make himself bigger and thereby, theoretically at least, more threatening. Dave retreats, clutching Officer President as if he is a weapon.  
“Wow,” you croak “You know what? I don’t think we need to be here.”  
Dave swallows hard “Where do we go?”  
You gesture along the main road, which continues out of Pottsfield, once more into the ocean of corn that surrounds the town.   
“Don’t you think…” starts Karkat “We could…oh, fuck it, those people are obviously insane.”  
“Yeah.” your throat is dry “Like…inbred serial killers insane.”  
“What does inbred mean?” asks Dave “And what’s that thing over there?”  
Dave points towards the cornfield. When you spot what he is pointing at, every single nightmare you have ever had about corn since watching ‘Children of the Corn’ comes true at once and leaves you breathless.  
There are people standing in the corn. Each one is only just tall enough to be able to stare out over the rows of corn at you and Dave. You feel their dull eyes on you like the keen, yet uninterested eyes of a predator that has already glutted itself on prey. They are all pale-skinned and dark-haired, although the colours do not look natural. They look added and dyed, too intense to be natural. When one of them moves a small shower of dirt falls from their shoulder and you realise they are all covered in dirt and mud, their skin shining marble-white through the grime.  
“Get inside, Dave.” orders Karkat.  
He grips your collar with his little feet and tugs at you, coaxing you backwards. Finally, your courage breaks. You turn around and duck into the hall, shutting the door firmly and quietly. Inside, the air is heavy and hot, scented with mildew that probably comes from the cloth costumes each one of them wears. The townspeople must all be gathered here. All told, there about thirty or forty of them, all encased in some outfits that must have been inspired by nightmares borrowed from the depths of hell.  
Scarecrows. Thirty or forty of them in the hall, about half dancing around the biggest and most messed up goddamned maypole you have ever seen. The ropes look like they were snipped off a gibbet, and the pole is about three stories of black, rusty metal wrapped sparingly in some black ribbons you’d expect to find around the throat of one of those dead girls whose heads will fall off if the ribbons are taken away. The scarecrows that are not spinning around the maypole in a slow, halting fashion are engaged in mumbled conversation underneath the swell of song off the sides, or on what you think must be a dancefloor where the majority of those not at the maypole are swaying. There seems to be no dance steps or a loyalty to a partner. They dance like the cornstalks outside move- bobbing slowly, together, rippling.  
You would probably shit yourself right there and then if it isn’t for the fact that not a single one of them notices you.  
Two under-dressed, terrified kids and their pissed off guardian cardinal sneak in the front door and not a single one blinks? Well of course they don’t- those buttons serving as the eyes on the costumes wouldn’t blink, would they? Even so, you’re not sure if you’re safer in here with the scarecrows than you are out there, with the muddy corn-folk.  
Dave doesn’t think so. Sighing with relief, he slips his hand into yours and immediately plunges himself into the folds of your cloaks. You’re tempted to wrest him out again, scolding him: “don’t leave me alone in here, you coward!” but you’re too touched at the thought that he trusts you to protect him. Before you know it, your big-brother Strider pride has swollen your head and you’re walking over to one of the nearest scarecrows.  
Their sizes and designs vary wildly. You pick this one because it is smaller than you are and its skin is made from a nice, inoffensive green-and-white argyle that reminds you of the totally ironic old tablecloth your father digs out of the closet every time something like Christmas or Thanksgiving rolls around. Its eyes are the black buttons that seem to be the standard here, and it has no decorations, save for a brass bell around its neck, like the type people stick on cats.  
The scarecrow stands with its back to the wall, the one which the door is mounted in, and barely looks up as your approach. Its face is aimed at the procession around the maypole. If scarecrows had expressions, this one would be held rapt by the twisting ropes.  
You summon your courage.  
Dave pops his head out of your cloak “Excuse me?”  
The scarecrow flinches, startled. It crosses its arms over its chest, and you notice the slight curve of breasts there. Her head tilts up and down as she looks you over.  
“You’re lost?” she guesses, her voice cracked. It is the voice of someone who shouts too much or smokes a couple of packs every day- but you doubt they’ve got anything as modern and normal as a good ol’ deathstick around here.  
“We’re lost.” confirms Dave.  
The scarecrow nods “Quite lost. Where are you boys trying to go?”  
“Adelaide,” you and Karkat say in unison, which prompts the exchange of filthy looks.  
“The good woman of the woods?” asks the scarecrow “Wow! Very lost then!”  
You clear your throat “Uh, listen. Not to ring an unnecessary lose-your-shit-bells (you wonder if bells ever ring around here, because hers hasn’t chimed even once as she moves), but there is like, a whole stadium’s worth of people out there in your corn. Like, the support group for Dirt-Eaters anonymous. Pig people or something. They’re all over the place and they’re all dirty as fuck.”  
The scarecrow startles you by swinging into action. She claps her hands twice, attracting the attention of the entire hall in an instant. You shrivel into your cloak, but strangely, they don’t seem interested in you.  
“They’re here!” she rasps “Block it up, folks, like we practiced!”  
A rumble of excitement comes from the scarecrows. They disperse from the dance floor and the maypole at once and begin to drag the crates that line the walls away, towards the door. Some pick up chairs and other little beaten bits of furniture you hadn’t noticed and add them to the pile. Soon, a pretty decent sized barricade blocks up the doors, from the top to the bottom. What freaks you out the most is how damned happy the scarecrows seem to be doing this- like the argyle scarecrow is Snow-White and they’re her happy, mythical dwarf husbands/housemates going out to earn the bread and bring home the bacon.  
Not like there’s a horde of dirty corn-folk of mysterious origin lurking out in their crop or anything.  
Once the barricade is constructed, you notice there are no other exits from the hall. Where once there must have been back doors and windows are tight patches of boards.  
The scarecrows begin to stare once they’re finished.  
You wonder what your father would do if he were here. Toss his sons over either shoulder and scale the walls like the crazy ex-ninja he is, head-butt through the ceiling with some ridiculous finishing line to the costumed crowd and proceed to stroll down the corn lined path like there are no crazy dirty people in the stalks.  
This whole ordeal would be a lot easier if you were like your father. But you’re not. You’re just kinda you, a little boring, teenaged, with confidence issues and zits you wear like Boy-Scout badges. A whole new bunch of them are going to crop up after this.  
Stress zits from running into crazy cultists? Check.  
“Oh God, do you think they’re going to burn the barn down?” you squeak out, before you can help yourself.  
Karkat ruffles his feathers “Seems like a waste of energy to barricade the door.”  
You can tell he’s more unnerved than scared. Maybe cardinals go through this kind of stuff every day in the Unknown?  
Dave heard your fears, unfortunately, but he doesn’t seem scared at all.  
He slips out of your grasp and approaches the argyle scarecrow, tugging at the hem of her sack-cloth dress. Her head turns to him with a rasp of dry fabric.  
“Who are those people? In the corn?”   
The scarecrow shakes her head “They stopped being people a long time ago, sweetie. They’re…well, they’re no one, really. Don’t you trouble yourself with it.”  
Another scarecrow breaks away from the staring crowd to talk to the argyle one. This one wears some kind of muted, floral pattern, reminding you of the sheets of a grandmother that have spent too many years drying in the sun. It is much taller than the argyle and has two pins sticking out of the back of its head, as if they are meant to decorate it. To you, the pins look like a set of murder weapons.  
When it talks to the argyle, it looks at Dave.  
“Who will go into the fields now? They’re early. You told us we would be safe from this.”  
There is a murmur of assent from the crowd.  
The argyle shrugs “I did warn you all of this.”  
“She did.” agrees a second scarecrow, which is almost as short as she is and clothed in plain blue “And most of us did not want to listen. No sense in blaming her, when all of us had a hand in orchestrating this disaster.”  
The crowd grows silent and sullen, except for a handful who seem to be on the argyle’s side.  
Dave furrows his brow, but shows no further signs of concern. Either his mind is too young to process the amount of fear it must be steeped in, or he’s got balls of steel at the tender age of seven.  
There is a horrible kind of tension in the room. Not the kind that might build to a riot…more like the kind a group of passengers on a crashing plane or a sinking boat would experience if they knew there is no chance of rescue. These people know they have doomed themselves and the guilt is more embarrassing than a cause for terror.  
They shift from foot to foot and exchange slow glances through the masks that encase their heads. A couple place their heads in their hands and sigh, while others begin to pace listlessly.  
You don’t like it one bit.  
The argyle scarecrow clears her throat, making a nasty, scraping noise as she does “None of that. We don’t have the time for that. It was either the festival or the crops and we picked the festival out of fear of tradition. Now, we’ve got another serious tradition to carry out just behind this one, and we’re going to need those crops to do that. We all knew this wasn’t going to be an easy harvest, but just because something isn’t easy doesn’t mean you can give up.”  
Another scarecrow speaks up “How do we decide who goes out? Because I won’t go. I intend to spend the winter where the plans say I can, in the safety of my own home.”  
The argyle raises her hands in a placating gesture “Rest assured, we will only send out those who are equipped to deal with this.”  
“Is there a team already in place?” asks another voice.  
“Did Mayor Enoch leave a contingency behind?”  
“If you’re asking for volunteers, you won’t get much.”  
At these last words, you get the impression of the argyle pulling a dark, scary face behind her mask. A shiver runs up your spine, making Karkat tremble slightly too.  
“Believe me, I would never condescend as to ask any of you to do something that would make you remotely uncomfortable,” she sighs bitterly “In fact, the Mayor had already discussed this eventuality with several of us before he left.”  
Taking this as a cue, a handful of scarecrows detach themselves from the crowd, the blue one included. There seems to be no single feature that unites them all. They don’t look particularly fearsome. In fact one of them, a little one wrapped in a red knit shirt that looks kind of like a turtle-neck sweater, looks like something you’d find on a child’s bed next to Pokémon plushies. You kind of want to hug it.  
Once the handful of scarecrows have stepped out, the crowd loses interest in complaining. Many begin to turn away and talk quietly amongst themselves, until one of them notices Dave again.  
It points with fingers that are made of sticks “What about them?”  
“What about them?” the argyle too seems surprised to see Dave again.  
She glances back at you, her face blank.  
“Ah. Them. Well, what about you boys?”  
“We don’t have room,” says the floral one “I will not take responsibility for them.”  
Whoa, who the fuck asked her?  
(Flowers? Slightly feminine voice? Possibly a her.)  
Indignant, you step up “Excuse me, we don’t want to stay here! We’re just moving through. The only reason we came in here is because, well, you know them,” you jerk your thumb towards the barricaded door “We just want to move on. We’re not trying to assimilate ourselves into this…this whatever. Commune.”  
A dull, unimpressed silence follows this. Dave shakes his head sadly, like he cannot believe how dumb you are.  
“Nicely done,” hisses Karkat in your ear “Why don’t you just build us a pyre and toss on a torch to save them the trouble?”  
“Shut up,” you hiss back at him “I’m trying to get us out of here!”  
“They’re not quite ready to join us,” observes a scarecrow in grey cloth, with an old voice “I say you take them out too.”  
The crowd mutters again. That is all the scarecrows are capable of collectively, you think- muttering in agreement when one of them says something. They are like sleepwalkers, walking in any direction they are steered. It’s either blind trust or a conditioned inability to think for themselves and both of them scare you silly. The only thing that keeps you from flipping out right now is the image of the stern, fatherly disapproval on your father’s face if he could see you now.  
You can even hear him saying “Ball up, kid. Save your brother. Save the bird. Then the world, or the cheerleader. It’s your choice after Davie and that talking feather-thing.”  
Yep, that’s pretty much exactly what he would say, isn’t it?  
“Fine,” you say “Take us out into the fields. We’ll help you do whatever it is you need doing, then we’ll be on our way. No harm done.”


	6. Loz the Scarecrow

Why do people listen to you?  
Can’t they see that you’re an asshole? Can’t they see that all you know is empty bravado, and that you wouldn’t have the slightest fucking idea of who you’re supposed to be or what you’re supposed to do even if someone pressed the manual to Life into your sweaty hands and explained your role in little words?  
Dave knows this. Karkat has spent all of half an hour in your company and has already guessed at it. So why are you able to pull the wool over these scarecrows eyes? Well, their buttons.   
If only you weren’t so sure of your badass identity, then they might not let you march out into this mess you’re about to march into. Or they might. They’ll probably do whatever they have to do to get you out of their straw braids so they can continue with their cultist hibernation. From what you’ve gathered, these people spend the winter cozened away in their own homes with the blinds drawn and the doors blocked by heavy furniture.  
In fact, you blame the cloak. This damned cloak. It’s what seriously badass, self-assured people wear into battle. You are not one of those people when you’re not preforming as one for others, and you really just want to hide under a table right now.   
This thing is egging you on, isn’t it? You’re sure it is. If you cast off this inky thing this very instant, you’re sure your courage would break and you’d refuse to move. You could actually stay in this hall if you wanted to, now that the other scarecrows are all gone. The moment it was decided that they would not be the ones to risk their neck, the straw on the floor was swept aside. Hatches built into the floor were opened and a mass exodus into what you guess are a network of underground tunnels occurred.  
There are few things, to your mind, more disturbing than watching straw scarecrows slide as if boneless into holes in the earth that are completely unlit and slink away with a scrabbling of cloth. Dave was quite interested in this process and even helped a few who snagged their outfits on nails. When he had done this, he came over and told you brightly “There aren’t bodies in there.”  
“What do you mean?”  
To demonstrate, he reached out and squeezed the hand of one of the scarecrows that was to stay on. It was the blue one, who glanced down at him in mild surprise. Dave had crushed its hand to the width of a sheet of paper. Sawdust oozed out of the seams along the length of its hand.  
“What are you made of?” asked Dave as you struggled not to faint and Karkat swore explosively in your ear.  
“Sawdust and a few other things.” replied the scarecrow.  
“Other things like…bones?”   
It nodded “A few, yes. Most of them aren’t mine, though. I’ve lost most of my original pieces.”  
“They’re gonna steal our fucking bones!” whispered Karkat “Not mine, cos I’ve got little hollow ones, but you? You’re big and strong and there’s 6 feet of you. Your calcium sticks are fucking history.”  
As it turned out, Karkat is wrong.  
Each and every one of the bones you walked in with are still in your body at the moment, which finds you sitting on the dusty floor with the rest of them. The hatches have been shut, with straw swept back over them. The argyle is making one last check of the perimeter, prodding at the walls to make sure they won’t give, and kicking at the barricade in front of the double doors.  
While she does this, the others are content to complain amongst themselves.  
“Those spineless bastards -wwouldn’t pour water on fire w-without bein’ told ta.” says a taller one with a dizzying pattern of rippling blue and white lines on their skin “  
The red, sweater plush one sighs and starts to scold it, with the practiced ease of one who is used to crusading alone against the injustices in the world “Those spineless bastards are your friends and neighbours and companions in the aft-”  
The first one cuts across him “Pardon me, but I live next ta him,” he gestures to the blue that let Dave crush his hand and another that has cloth that has every single bone in the body printed on it in the anatomically correct place (you’re not letting Dave go near him) “An’ him. Y’all are my family an’ friends an’ neighbours an’ companions in this shit house. Them? Them in the tunnels? They ain’t anythin’ ta me. I been takin’ care ‘a myself w-without help since I w-was tiny, and them sure ain’t tryin’ ta change that, are they? They’re just a buncha leeches and jerks.”  
The one covered in the faded bones nods slowly and placidly. He has yet to say a single word. You may be a little less wary of him once he decides to speak, or the shock may take you so by surprise that you will punch him in the chest and scream. You cannot shake the feeling that he is staring at you, although you’re trying not to attract attention.  
The others are only faintly aware of you. They make no effort to include or exclude you and seem a little shocked every time you make yourselves known again. But him? Bone-guy’s black buttons have been aimed at you since you sat down.  
To distract yourself, even though ideally you would be listening to get a handle on the situation, you have been talking to Karkat. He’s quite a talker, for a bird.  
“So you’re telling me,” he says with biting sarcasm “That you thought walking on the main road would just get you where you need to go?”  
You bristle “I don’t know where I am, you know. It was a road. It was long. Pardon me for thinking ‘hey, this thing probably goes somewhere!’ I didn’t know I was going to be tricked by miles of dirt.”  
“Everything wants to trick you!” he retorts hotly “That’s what the Unknown is all about! Tricks and traps are the name of the game, Dork.”  
“My name is Dirk.”  
“Might as well be Dork. I like Dork better. Dork is just quintessentially you, so shut up, Dork.”  
You have to fight the urge to grab him and squeeze until his creepy red eyes bug out of his tiny, hollow skull “Wait, wait, what the hell is wrong with the main road anyway?”  
Karkat gapes. This looks very strange, with a beak “What do you mean what’s wrong with the main road? It’s the main road! Look, I know you’re not from around here but seriously?! You must know! Where the fuck are you from where they don’t teach their children this stuff? Your parents must want you to be devoured” he squints, trying to place you “I thought you were from Silent Hill at first, but you don’t smell like burning stuff.”  
“What? Where’s that?”  
“Where’s Germany?” counters Karkat “You don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about, I don’t know if any one of the alleged words you’ve fired out of your squawk blaster since we met are force of habit or if, you know, you’re actually communicating…something tells me this partnership will be way more trouble than it’s worth to me.”  
“You can’t leave us,” pipes up Dave, reclining in your lap “If you do, you’re basically a murderer and you’ll suffer nightmares of us forever and I’ll haunt you.”  
Karkat shoots him a withering glare “You think I’d be scared if your scrawny, dead ass floated out of my closet?”  
“Birds have closets?” asks Dave.  
The bird glowers and shakes himself roughly, as if drying off “It’s a figure of speech. Shut up.”  
“How can you talk anyway?” presses Dave “I’ve never met a bird that can talk before.”  
“Well going by the lovely corpse-white of your skin, you don’t get out very much do you? What, like twice a month? Once under the full moon?”  
“It’s a skin condition,” protests Dave “Look, I’ve got no pigment or something.”  
Karkat stares at him “I don’t have pig’s mints either but that doesn’t excuse not going out and existing. This is your fault, Dork.”  
“My fault?”  
“It’s your fault your brother is coloured like a blood-sucker. You need to get him in the sun.”  
You get the feeling Karkat doesn’t know the first thing about skin conditions. Better to not even try to explain Dave’s near albinism to him, as he’s not the most receptive of learners. Also, he’s a fucking bird. He doesn’t even know what Germany is.  
You repeat as much to him “You’re a fucking bird. You don’t know what Germany is. I’m not even going to try to explain what’s different about Dave to you, because it will soar in through one noise-hole and out the other without leaving an impression.”  
He blinks at you “I don’t get it. You’re not from Silent Hill, you’re not from the Laughing Shore, you’re not from Gods’ Mountain…where are you from?”  
Since nothing you say matters or makes sense to him, it probably won’t do too much damage to tell him. Also, you just really, really want to say something and have it be the truth right now.  
“We’re from a charming little hick-hell called Archer’s Pass.”  
He frowns “Never heard of it.”  
You nod “You wouldn’t have. After all, you don’t know what Germany is.”  
He grows sour again “So what’s your problem out there?”  
“Hey,” Dave tugs at your sleeve “They want to talk to us.”  
In the short space of the time it took to talk to Karkat, the attention of the scarecrows has focussed on you. Everyone is staring. Every single one of them has grown still and quiet, looking for all the world like the ones you see hanging in fields at home. Except Bone-guy. Bone-guy still looks like Hannibal Lector’s wet-dreams or nightmare come to life.  
It is not the argyle who does the talking as you hope. She is on her feet, her head aimed to look down one of the deep holes in the earth. Even as Sweater-guy starts to explain it to you, you already understand what they want you to do.  
“Now, I understand how confusing this must be for you,” it starts, like reading from a manual “But please understand that this is even more disconcerting and frightening for us-”  
“Fuck yeah it is,” agrees the wave-patterned one, whom you have decided is a boy from the depth of his annoying voice “This is like, the first fuckin’ time in ev-ver this kinda shit has gone dow-wn. Least-a-w-wise, w-while w-we been around, an’ w-we been around for a w-while.”  
“Shut up Cronus,” says the one with those things in her hair “Nobody cares.”  
He reaches over and pats her on the shoulder in a way that suggests he would rather punch her in the straw-jaw. But he says nothing more, allowing Sweater-guy to continue unhindered, which is obviously what makes him happy.  
You almost don’t hear him when he starts again.  
Cronus. So they have names, unless that’s some kind of archaic curse or a reference to that one Greek dude that ate all his kids (thank you, Uncle Rick, for the comprehensive education you have received in Greek shit), which you doubt.  
Names you can pronounce. Ok, that’s one step in the direction of making you feel better. That makes this all a little less unnerving and a little more human. You meet Bone-guy’s stare at Sweater-guy’s babble washes over you and wonder what his names is. Only for a moment, though, because Bone-guy’s general creepiness is like the sun; if you look directly at it for too long, you are sure to go blind.  
“I am sure you have never seen anything like those…you used some kind of quaint term to describe them…”  
“Cork folk?” offers Dave.  
Sweater-guy nods, but is somehow not acknowledging Dave at all and barely seems to know he is there “Yes. While that is certainly not their proper name, it seems quite a functional term to describe their basic function.”  
You roll your eyes, amazed at how much he can say without actually saying anything “Alright, so what are they? Are they like you?”  
All at once, the scare-crows shiver to life to offer various noises of disgust or to laugh bitterly, for the one with stuff in her hair. You’ve got to come up with some kind of clever name to reduce what horrifies you about her to something basic and fun. ‘Hair Lady’ just doesn’t feel appropriate.  
“They are nothing like us.” says the blue on- let’s call him Blue, you think.  
“I wouldn’t say they aren’t anything like us,” retorts the argyle. She lays a hand on his shoulder, which sags slightly underneath her hand. The affection is both strange and unmistakable. Either they’re dating or best friends and you can’t tell which. To be honest, it freaks you out that bits of bone wrapped in straw-stuffed sacks masquerade any kind of affection at all.  
“Oh yes? How are they like us.”  
“Pardon me, Horus, but I was talking.” says Sweater-guy.  
Excellent! Blue now has a name! An old-fashioned, old man name but a name that you’re willing to employ all the same.  
Horus waves Sweater-guy away “You do tend to be talking, don’t you?” he now addresses you, although you gave no indication that you wanted to be talked to “What she means is that they started out basically the same way we did.”  
Karkat breaks in here. Like you, he has figured out that he won’t get a straight answer out of these people unless he beats them over the head with direct questions first “So you guys started out as flesh and blood or wraiths or fucking what? Dispense with the abstract and the mysterious bullshit, please. If I’m going to be tormented by those things out there I at least what to know what the fuck is coming after me.”  
“I will explain that now, as best I can, if Horus is willing to allow me to speak.”  
You get the impression that Horus is smiling behind his mask, if he has anything resembling a face with which to smile.  
“I’ve never been one to attempt to thwart nature, have I? I would no more attempt to prevent you from speaking than I would try to drive back a tsunami with the sheer force of my willpower. Please, go on.”  
Sweater-guy rankles, but he doesn’t rise to the bait.  
“I’ll keep this short, as we have very little time. You have no doubt heard of Pottsfield before, so let me be the first to lay your suspicions about our…physical nature to rest. Yes, we have no bodies, and yes, we are only flimsy forms of existence bound inside straw bodies, but that does not lessen our presence as people by any means. Pottsfield happens to be as charming and troubled as any of the other hamlets you will find out here, thank you, and we do not ask for charity or exception on the basis of our basic lack of physicality. In fact, given that we barely communicate with the outside world I would find it strange if we had earned ourselves a reputation as beggars at all.”  
The other scare-crows shift somewhat restlessly. This manages to be far more unnerving than their silence. You wish they’d stop moving and gather Dave a little closer to you.  
“Our good Mayor Enoch is the only one of us who has a complete body yet and as such he is able to leave the borders of the town as we will never be able to. It so happens that this harvest he was called way from our town on other business that apparently could not be postponed. It was an opportune moment that he chose to leave us, as those things out there have so far let him go about his business during the harvest without disturbing him…the basic point is that with his absence we have been forced to create contingency plans to ensure that the town is sealed up whether or not he is here to do it for us. If we do not do this before the sun goes down, than I am afraid those ‘corn-folk’ will leave the boundaries of the town.”  
You swallow hard, feeling the silence that follows this heavily on your shoulders.  
“What will they do if they get lose?” rasps Karkat.  
Sweater-guy shrugs “Nothing good. Records from the last time it happened do not exist, so we can only assume that everything was destroyed or it has never happened before. We only know that as the harvest ripens, so do they. They are ready to leave the fields whenever the harvest is ready. Not only do we have to reap the harvest, but we must keep them within the boundaries of the town. Do you understand?”  
No. Not a word.  
However, the cloak compels you to pretend otherwise.  
“Sure. I can work with that.”  
“Good,” says the argyle “’Cos we gotta get going. Everything’s set in here. You guys are going to help us seal up the town. We’ll shut the very last door behind you. How does that sound?”  
Horrible. You want to cry.  
But this cloak, damn, this cloak!  
“Fine.”  
She draws back, satisfied “People, you know your place. Loz, I want you to take the boys with you. Don’t let them get hurt.”  
Your heart sinks, but really, how could you expect anything else? Bone-guy looks up at her at the sound of his name and nods. His eyes give no impression of wandering back to you, but you know he’s looking at you again.  
Loz.  
What’s that short for, you wonder?  
Because it’s just one of those days and one of these days isn’t satisfied with forcing you into only one terrible situation, the scare-crows begin to slide into the holes. The argyle is the first to go. You were operating under the stupid assumption that she might feel some kind of responsibility towards your safety up until a second ago. Now, you realise, as you watch her slither into the hole that she is in no way going to be helpful or comforting. She was simply the first to notice you.  
Well fuck.  
Dave tugs on your cloak “I’m not scared.”  
“You’re stupid.” Hisses Karkat “Really stupid. You deserve to be punished for that, and as such I have no fucking intentions of protecting you if this goes wrong. You’re on your own. You’re doomed to obscurity, if your well-being hinges on me protecting you.”  
Dave reaches up and puts his finger under Karkat’s chin, sort of petting him.  
“Don’t worry, Karkat, I’m too nice to refuse to protect you.”  
He cups his hands around the bird and removes him from your shoulder, placing him on his own. Karkat bears this transition with a grim expression. He watches the scarecrows pushing themselves into the holes around Dave’s finger and doesn’t even complain when Officer President slinks across Dave’s hood to get a look at his new room-mate.  
The thought of sliding into those holes fills you with a black panic. They could be drop-offs into a giant cavern under this hall for all you know. Since the scarecrows don’t have bodies to be injured that wouldn’t worry them at all, would it? And who even knows how narrow those tunnels might be? They could squeeze themselves through a gap as small as they please, but what if they expect you to crawl through a chink in the rock? What then, when the hatch slams shut on you and you’re trapped with your brother insisting he’s not terrified and a croaking frog and an indignant bird and a silent scarecrow?  
Somehow, the cloak doesn’t make you feel better about your situation.  
“Hey.”  
You look up, your stomach turning back-flips. Only Bone-guy, Loz, is left of the scarecrows, so it had to be him that spoke. Also, neither Dave nor Karkat could ever come close to mocking a voice that deep and that dusty.  
“Ain’t the safest ‘a places ta be gettin’ yer chill on, but y’all don’t worry your pretty skull. Yer safe with me.”  
He steps into the hole, which only comes up to his waist, and offers you his hand. You immediately think of every Disney couple ever, in some kind of horror movie situation.  
You take his hand, careful not to crush it “Thanks. I’ll hold you to that.”


	7. Thanks for all your help, Loz, and for the chest-bell

So the tunnel turns out to be about as terrifying as you thought.  
After Loz helped you into the tunnel, he waited until you had lowered Dave in beside you, then flattened himself against the tunnel wall and inched away like a sting-ray creeping across the wall of an aquarium. You have no choice but to head in after him. You also have to flatten yourself against the wall, but it is so narrow that your chest scrapes against what should have been the far wall.  
The tunnel is essentially nothing but a thin slot in the earth. No light, no noise. Not even the sound of your breathing or your voice when you ask Dave if he was ok. You sense that he replies affirmative, that Karkat has something sharp to add too, but the rising panic sucks away all the noise.  
Weirdly, you began to think of soldiers.  
You understand why they have to be drilled again and again so that shooting and manoeuvres become muscle-memory. Fear is immobilising, like a sedative or a paralysing poison. When it gets in you deep, down to the bones, it stops you from moving unless you’re just moving on autopilot. It allows no room for thought or rationality. It allows no room for anything but itself, its big, drowning, lightless self ;surging through your mind and sweeping away everything that is not a basic instinct.  
Lucky for you, you happen to be a big brother.  
In all situations that involve your little brother your instinct is to forge ahead and show him how it is done. You are in no way lucid enough to be aware that you are setting an example for Dave, however. This is all just natural to you.  
There is no backwards or a sideways with the walls and Dave in your way. The only way is forward.  
So you move forward.  
Forward.  
Further.  
Up to the- light? Is that light?  
Is that the sound of Loz moving, or is that the roar of water in your ears?

Where are you?

Why are you?

Where did the light go? Which one do you chase?

“Move it, Dirk.”

And who the hell is that talking?  
You know you can’t talk- your mouth is full of stale air and acid and you need every single scrap of it to get out. To move.  
To chase the light.

 

The tunnel pulls up sharply. So sharply that you thump right into Loz and squish him up on the wall.  
“’Scuse me, bro.” rumbles Loz without malice.  
You blink. For a moment, you’re certain you’re still in the dark (why did you stare so long at the creepy?), but then spots start appearing on the edge of your field of vision and you realise you’ve just stepped into light. Blinking harder, you move backwards away from Loz and immediately bump into Dave.  
“Am I hallucinating?” he asks, his voice small and squeaking.  
You grope for his hand and squeeze it hard when you find it “No. We’re there. Sorta…it’s kinda sheer up there. So, how are we getting up?”  
Loz looks blankly at you, framed in the light. Your heart creeps up your throat. All of a sudden, he whizzes out of sight, like a spider in a vacuum cleaner.   
Now that ranks among the most fucked-up things you have ever seen.  
“That was unexpected.” rasps Karkat “Don’t worry folks. I’ve got our asses covered. I’ll just carry you right the fuck out of here because I’m a fucking magical bird and there’s no need for logic or reason here.”  
Dave suddenly pushes into your side, like he’s trying to squeeze by you.  
“Dave! Don’t, it’s too tight in here!”  
Officer President ribits a similar sentiment, but you have to hold him still before he’ll stop.  
“There’s someone in here!” he gasps, burying his face in your side “Somebody’s…that song!”  
Ice steals over your heart “What song?”  
“That song.” he repeats “That song. You shouldn’t’a…that song is bad.”  
You listen carefully, but you can’t hear anything. Not because of the panic that sucked away all of your earlier words- just because there is nothing there.  
“Dave calm down-” you break off into a shrill squeak as something droops onto your shoulder and scrapes against your neck.  
“Up’n attem.” says Loz from far above.  
His appendage lengthens and wraps around your torso before you can so much as scream again. It coils tightly around you and you’re winched into the light.  
“Dirk!” protests Dave.  
“Karkat’s there,” you say “Karkat’s got you!”  
You’re not sure if you should panic or laugh. Loz draws you up through about ten feet of a rocky channel. Looking up, you find that this is about as wide as a well. There is even a rickety, rusted ladder built into the wall. Unbidden, the image of bloody, scared people crowding into this space fills your mind, so vivid it is as if you had experienced it yourself.  
That goes away the moment Loz deposits you on the scratchy grass. He does so without a hint of humour, like this is something he does every day. Quickly, you look around. Loz has taken you to a garden behind a house that is sealed- the windows are boarded up and the backdoor is shut. The sun has moved lower in the sky, but the gloom of dusk is far away. It seems so strange to you that there is even a day or a night in this place- the morning you have had so far was interminable.  
Of course, the fields are in sight. The garden backs right onto them. The corn starts about fifteen feet away, and less than four feet into the corn you’re sure you can see the back of a head. At least they’re not facing you. Loz also has his back to them, apparently unconcerned by their presence.  
Ok. You can work with this.  
You tuck your coat around you, tight against the cold.  
“Dave?”  
He looks up at you, standing in a pool of light looking devastated and utterly alone, despite the woodland creatures perched on his shoulders. A single tear makes steady progress down his cheek.  
“Hey, you’re ok.”  
He nods “I’m ok.”  
Dave flinches back in revulsion when Loz unravels his arm for a second time. At your encouragement, he allows the arm to wind around him. His journey is just as quick as yours. Loz pulls him straight up, keeping him far from the walls you fear will scrape him. As soon as he is within arm’s reach, you scoop him up and tug him out.   
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?”  
Dave is pale, but he shakes his head “Kinda weird.”  
“It’s been a weird day.” you knock your forehead against his “A fucking weird day. You’re doing good, though. Really good.”  
“You’re sickening.” announces Karkat.  
Loz gets up. He slopes out of the garden, thankfully away from the fields. Dave clings to you when you stands up, attaching himself to one leg the way he used to as a little kid when he decided that walking was for chumps.   
You follow Loz so closely that you’ll bump into him if he stops suddenly.  
“So, Loz,” you say, unable to bear the thick silence when you know what is out there “Tell us about yourself.”  
His head turns a 180 on his boneless neck. He stares at you without a word for a few moments, moving as smoothly across the ground as if he has a set of eyes in the back of his head (you don’t think so; you would have noticed).  
Your tongue dries up so you nearly can’t speak. However, you are quite accustomed to babbling when times get tough. Karkat has apparently been trained in a similar way. You wonder who told him that fear-babble is the best way to talk yourself through the unmanageable? Maybe he has a Bro of some kind too?  
Seems unlikely. Seems like this is just a piece of Karkat’s prickly personality. He should have been born a hedgehog.  
“You do have a tongue in that straw, right?” presses Karkat “Let’s talk. Let’s be friends for exactly as long as we have to be, then I promise you can go back to being silent and terrifying.”  
“Ain’t had a tongue fer a mighty stretch.”  
Wow, you wish he had turned his head around before he said that. Karkat fluffs his feathers up in what seems like an involuntary attempt to make himself bigger “Oh yeah? What is in there, then? I mean, apart from the obvious viscera.”  
Loz doesn’t address him, but you “Y’all’re fixin’ ta see Adelaide? That lady planted in that pasture, yeah?” the empty sockets around where his eyes would be seem to stare far more effectively than any other  
“Yeah.”  
“Huh.”  
He turns around.  
“Whoa. Whoa, whoa, hold the fuck up. I thought there was some kind of understanding here that lives are at risk. Like, lives contained within flesh sacks as oppose to sacks sacks.”  
“That doesn’t make us more important than him,” objects Dave “That’s like saying I matter more than Burnle-Bob just because I’m a human boy and it’s a frog who’s…who’s…um, I don’t know. You know?”  
Karkat scowls at him “No I don’t know –oh fuck there’s one of them in the road.”  
Like the ones in the cornfield, this one has its back to you.  
Now that you have a chance to look at it without the screen of the corn, you can see the figure is dressed in the dirt-encrusted rags you expected. You’re certain now that the corn-folk did in fact drag themselves out of the ground. This figure looks female. Short, female, with a spill of dark, dirty hair and skin that it is impossible to judge the colour of, thanks to the layers of dirt that cover her.  
“I had me one a’ them.” says Loz softly “Might even…might even catch a gander ‘a my bad ol’ self out here.”  
Ice washes over your insides “Are these your bodies?”  
His straw shoulders slump “We got sick. Real sick. Blood in my nose an’ eyes.”  
You cover one of Dave’s ears and push his face into his side, trusting your cloak to pillow the others. For some reason, you’re not scared to hear this. What Loz is telling you is his fear, his problem and his nightmares. This doesn’t affect you and Dave and Karkat and the frog at all. You’re just passing through.  
All the same, you are more than willing to hide when Loz ushers you quickly off the road you were about to turn onto, where the woman stands. You notice a puddle of dark blood between her feet as you go.  
“Tell us what happened,” urges Karkat.  
“Y’all outside, y’all don’t got no inklin’, then, a’ what we got all up in our systems out here?”  
If the scare-crows ever intoned, you get the feeling he would be shocked and even a little offended.  
“Don’t bother asking these jokers,” Karkat gestures to you and Dave with his wings “They’re from Silent Hill or something, and we all know the Silence are just raised as fodder for their triangle-headed bastard of a deity. But yeah, no, I’m from the Unknown. I’ve never even heard of Pottsfield. Like…not really.”  
“We ain’t spake ‘a much, I’m guessin’ at. We ain’t the kinda thin’ y’all’d wanna get yer gab on ‘bout.”  
To your horror, you realise he’s steering you into the corn fields.  
“But the things are in here!” you hiss through your teeth.  
“See ‘em an’ run, then….s’pose they’d be wantin’ some fresh meat though.”  
“That is easily the creepiest thing I have ever heard in a cornfield.”  
Loz pauses at the edge of the cornfield, his foot poised at the edge of the first row “How many corn-fields y’all been in?”  
“A lot. Archer’s Pass is lousy with them.”   
He nods “A’ite. Then y’all should know how ta run in one, yeah?”  
“Hang onto me Dave.”  
He knots his fist into your cloak obediently. The frog shimmies up his arm and dives into your breeches, forcing you to muffle a scream. Burnle-Bob takes no heed of your discomfort and makes himself comfortable in your pocket, after a lot more kicking and slithering actions in your erogenous zone than you are prepared to deal with. At the same time, Loz wraps his arm around your wrist (like, literally, almost like sticking a scarf on) and tugs you into the corn fields.  
“Shit I don’t like this.”  
“Me either.” says Loz with a touch of cheer “Still, s’nice ta have somebody ta freak out with.”  
“You can freak out with us all the way to Adelaide’s pasture if you want.” you say, and for some reason you mean it.  
“Can’t leave, brother. Bound ta this place fer’ever an’ sich.”  
You also kinda expected that “That sucks. So…which one of them are you? Which one of the bodies?”  
“The cutest one, I bet.” mutters Karkat bitterly.  
Loz doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he guides you through the corn with the kind of single-minded determination you’d expect from Captain Ahab. In search of his Great White Corn –Cob in an almost-literal ocean of them. Poor Ahab. Dude needed to get himself a girl/boyfriend and a warm hearth and possibly a puppy, sort his shit out instead of letting it rule his life and get him eaten by an albino whale.  
You glance down at your brother and whisper under the rustle of the stalks “Remember Moby?”  
His face crumples into an adorable kind of contempt he has practically perfected “No I don’t. I blocked that dumb nickname out.”  
Dave teethed on everything when he was little. As such, your father took inspiration from his genetic condition and called him Moby until he started to think it was his actual name, at which point he banished the nickname to the rarely-used pile of nicknames, such as ‘Ricky’ and the one that is a wasp sting in the ear every time you hear it, ‘Buggle snunny’ (you couldn’t say ‘snuggle bunny’ when you were little) for you.  
You wonder if Loz ever had any cute nicknames. Did he even have parents, or did he crawl out of dirt of his own accord the way his physical body is determined to keep doing?  
You’re phrasing the question in your mind when his grip on your arm tightens. Rather than tugging you forward, he pushes you down and tucks you under an arm. Wow, you really don’t want to be this close to him. It feels strange to crouch out in the relative open like this, with nothing at your back but corn and the people in the corn. Like losing track of a shark-fin in the open ocean and just waiting for it to come back. You tuck Dave under your arm with his face to your shoulder, just in case. He puts a hand in your pocket to muffle any noises the frog might make.  
“What the fuck is going on someone tell me or I will literally flip my shit.” whispers Karkat in your ear, his little beak pricking your earlobe.  
“Hush up, you.” says Loz good-naturedly.  
It works.   
A moment later, there is a sound of shuffling feet. The corn-stalks in front of you shiver and part about five feet up ahead.  
Loz presses what might be his mouth to your ear. His voice is so soft and dry you would have mistaken it for the sound of a page turning if he were not so close “There’s that ol’ meat ‘a mine.”  
Loz is kinda cute.  
You never thought you’d be saying that about a corn-zombie. He’s nowhere near as cute as Jake, in your biased opinion, but he has the same long, straight nose and round chin. His curly hair is almost braided in dirt, and falls around his face and over what must be stunning eyes in a curtain. As Loz promised, a trail of blood drips freely from his nose and run down his cheeks like tear-tracks. Every now and then, a bead of blood pushes up over his cracked lips and drips off of his chin.  
You’re taken by surprise by the rush of affection you feel for the shambling, revolting figure. You think ‘oh he just needs a bath and a hair brush and we can stuff him back in himself, right?’ and you would get up to do it, if it weren’t for Dave tucked into your arm. Like, literally, your muscles tense to stand of their own accord and the only thing that stops you is the obstacle tucked between your knees.  
“Fuck me blind.” hisses Karkat.   
That too, brings you back to reality with a sharp bump.  
Loz’s body stops slowly.  
“A’ite, that’s it, he’s seen us.” Loz brings his voice above a whisper.  
He pulls you and Dave upright and sets off at a steady clip. The other’s eyes burn into your back.  
“Oh my God.” says Dave.  
You pick him up without a word and redouble pull yourself level with Loz.  
“Stick with me.”  
“Are we sealing the town up, or whatever?”  
“I don’t give a fuck ‘bout this town.” he says somewhat cheerfully “They can take care ‘a ‘emselves. Yer gettin’ outta here now.”  
“You’re abandoning the people you know and love for three assholes with a frog you met ten minutes ago?” asks Karkat.   
He flies now. Must not trust you to be able to stay on your feet with a child in your arms and a scarecrow guiding you none-too gently.  
“Don’t know ‘em. Don’t love but on ‘a ‘em…y’all saw her. Pretty girl in the street. Blood on her legs.”  
“I saw her.” affirms Dave.  
“Her thinker’s goin’ the way ‘a her flesh. I ain’t…I ain’t gone watch that. Calm me selfish, fine, but I just ain’t gone watch that.”  
“Selfish.” announces Karkat, if only to lighten the mood.  
The mood does indeed require a tune-up. With the sound of something old and dead rushing at you as best it can on its unsteady legs, the corn-fields have become about as comfortable as a bed of lava. Over the tops of the stalks you’re huddled into, you can see the stalks shiver, ripple, as more muddy heads crop up and progress through the stalks towards you. Their advance stumbles and shambles along, but you know you will be caught if you keep going this way. They’ll bring you down and tear you to shreds and patch up what they can with your spare pieces. They’ll do something weird and horrible to Dave before they eat him. Only Karkat and the frog will escape with their hides intact, whereupon the will rove through the forest in a haze of confusion and grief for the rest of their short days.  
Something like that.  
Loz veers sharply to the left, pulling you right into the path of one of the corn-folk. You zig-zag across the spot they will reach in about five seconds. You don’t bother to ask him what he’s doing- you’ve sorta just resigned yourself to his authority. He’s the scarecrow here. You are a mere boy with a rad-ass cloak and a little brother tucked under your arm, and also a talking bird and a not-talking frog.  
There’s something on your back.  
Like the sun, but without the heat. It’s like standing out in a really, really hot day with heat radiating up from the black, bubbling tarmac, and it’s actually killing you. The way the hot sun can wipe you out, the pressure on your back is also doing this. It’s draining you, pulling you towards it at the same time.   
A roaring in your ears swells to an unimaginable volume. You fall to your knees, unable to help yourself. A strong set of arms winds around your torso and drags you, without a care for how rough and scratchy the ground is on your skin. Your body has become as heavy as a stone, and you can’t lift a limb. Even though your life depends on it right now, you really just can’t move.  
Somebody’s talking to you.

We could be good together.  
Come over and let’s talk about it.  
Space enough in here for you and the little man.  
Come over here and let’s talk about it.

Dave’s voice drowns out and banishes the gnawing voice “…the time you knocked me off the dock at the beach and the current was a lot stronger than you thought, and then you had to jump in after me and swim like a boss and I was just floating on my back like I didn’t care at all and it was the best thing I’d done all day? Well I was really scared. I thought there were sharks everywhere. I felt like, you know someone is watching you behind you, I felt like sharks were looking at me and they were going to come up and eat me in one bite. And I was so mad at you, in case I died, like, ‘what did I do to you to deserve to be pushed’, but then you grabbed me and threw me on the shore and we had to crawl through three other peoples’ back-yards to get back because the current was too strong to swim against? It was last year, so you really should remember, unless your brain farted or something.”  
Your tongue tastes like dust “I remember.”  
“That’s a dumb story.” says Loz.  
“Well I didn’t get bit,” says Dave, tugging you around a rock “But I’m still really mad about it.”  
You manage to reach up to pat him on the head “I’m sorry, lil’ man. I am a dick of a brother, huh?”  
“Stand up and I’ll forgive you.”  
You stand up.  
Your legs are water, though, so you almost fall back down. Loz catches your arm with his freaky, cloth arm and Dave plants his hands in the middle of your chest. They force you back to your feet. The edge of the cornfield is in sight, less than ten feet away. So is Kurloz’s body, moving about as slow as you are able to. Dave grabs you by the collar and drags you, helped by Kurloz. Karkat soras overhead.  
He makes a dive, his claws thrust forward, and rakes them over Kurloz’s body’s face. There is no blood and Karkat screams as if it hurts him. All the same, he climbs back above the corn-field and dives a second time. The attacks do very little to slow the body down, apart from making it stumble when Karkat strikes.  
He encourages you to run: “MOVE FASTER YOU BUTT-MUCHING TURTLES, MOVE, MOVE, MOVE LIKE YOUR ASSES ARE ON FIRE!! MOVE LIKE I CAN BREATHE FIRE AND I WILL LIGHT YOUR ASSES ON FIRE UNLESS YOU MOVE AT THE SPEED OF THE FUCKING WIND, MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!!”   
With a final, massive effort, you burst through the edge of the corn-field. Strength floods you, and the shock is as cold as ice. So cold, in fact, that you can’t help but scream. You scoop Dave up just in time to sweep him out of the body’s way. It makes something that might be a lunge and snaps upright when it misses, regaining its balance at an unnatural speed. Swearing, you pull Dave back further, retreating behind Loz.  
Loz has no plans to stand up to his body, however, he pulls back along with you. You have been spat out of the corn-field on some back-road. The houses are far away now, and thanks to the swell of the hills, you can see the other streets are full by now.  
A glowing light creeps around the edge of the town. The light has begun to form some kind of wall around the town. The sheets of light flow towards each other. By now, the gaps are sparse. The only place that the light has yet to extend to is around your art of the town. Obviously, this is what Loz should have created by now. He’s been too busy protecting your ass to even start, or he doesn’t care at this point.  
Probably the not-caring thing.  
The nearest sheets of light are moving in on either side about half a mile away, on both sides. The fence that marks out the edge of the town are not that far away, but the obstacles in your way seem to make it miles. By obstacles, that is to say, the bodies.  
They’ve gathered around the corn-field. Most of them are facing away from you. Some of them are not. These look blankly, but begin to take the example from Loz’s body, which makes a swipe for you or Dave again. Karkat dives again too.  
“Run!” he urges “To the fence! I’ve got you covered! Sorta! What the fuck are you guys doing getting lost without a sword?”  
You snatch a stick up off the ground, turn around, and whack Loz’s body between his glassy eyes. Of course this is about as effective as you imagine it would be to punch a shark in the nose as it is biting you. Smacking Dave on the butt, you send him running off to the fence. He dodges around the shambling bodies, the few that attempt to snatch at him with ease. Karkat plunges and soars, scoring the faces, arms and scalps of every single body within claw’s-reach. Loz follows him, and you follow Loz, smacking his body in the face again and again.   
“Can they follow us over the fence?” you shout over your shoulder.  
“Fuck yeah they can!” Loz curses filthily “I ain’t stretched out the lights yet, have I? Gotta wait ‘til Rus an’ Cro are done with their shit!”  
“How long will that take?”  
“Yer gonna know ‘cos the town’ll get all shut up!”  
Dave bumps against the edge of the fence. He tries to clamber over it, but his legs are far too short. Another body swings at him, missing on its own, and smashes its fist through the fence. Once it realises it can move past the fence, it totally loses interest in Dave and literally flops over the fence, almost as boneless as the scare-crow it must belong to.   
The light sheets are too far away to close them off. Three more bodies haul themselves over the fence too, mostly ignoring Dave. Karkat hovers over Dave, ready to strike down anything that shows any kind of interest in him. From the laboured way he flies, Karkat is tired. Cardinals aren’t really built for the kind of attacking that Karkat used- or for attacking, period. That beaks is made to crack open nuts and slice berries, not for the tough, weathered flesh and bone he has sunk it into. He’s almost too tired to stay in the air, but he’s staying up there, somehow.  
Loz’s body is as relentless as Karkat. It won’t stop, no matter how many times you hit it. In your desperation to damage it, you drive the tip of the stick straight into the eye-socket. You push through without much trouble, but it doesn’t stop it. It jerks back suddenly and wrenches the stick from your hands, then thrusts its hands out so there is no question of your getting around it to get the stick back.  
From behind you, there is a blood-chilling, dry shriek.  
“Stop it!” cries Dave “You’re hurting him!”  
You turn to see Loz is doubled- over with a hand cupped to his button eyes. Dave wraps his arms around Loz’s neck, the way he knows to hug you when you’ve been knocked flat by the head-aches that have become common since you started puberty. Distracted by the cry, you whirl around and leave yourself completely open, of course. So it is more embarrassing to realise you actually just did that than it is when Loz’s body throws its arm around your chest and pulls you close.  
Karkat dives with a furious screech that is hardly a bird’s noise. Loz’s body lashes out and catches him in a fist and begins to squeeze. His eyes bugging, Karkat pecks at the fist crushing him in a frenzy. You feel your ribs being pushed together, interlocking, squeezing your organs. It’s going to crush you until your insides shoot out of you, like the time you stomped a tube of toothpaste on the bathroom floor.  
You wheeze “Dave, don’t look.”  
Your vision blacks out and once more, that gnawing voice is in the back of your mind. It tells you you’re going to like it with him.

(Dirk, where are you?)

It tells you it has missed having a substance, a core. It tells you there is room for Dave.

(I think they fell! I can’t see them!)

It tells you it has hurt to be on its own for so long, but it feels better now, knowing it won’t have to be alone ever again.

(But I swear…I swear to God, Dirk meant to fall.)

It tells you to let go.

(I think he jumped.)

Then its arms are ripped clean off.  
The pressure goes. Coughing, you fall forward onto your knees and kick out behind you, kind of like a donkey. Your foot connects with something dense. Karkat falls into the dirt beside you. He makes a horrible whistling noise as he tries to breathe through his squished lungs. Scooping him up, you scramble away on all-fours, cursing wildly.  
Loz has lost his arms too. He doesn’t look all that perturbed, for someone covered in his own stuffing, bleeding the sticks and the fragments of bone and scraps of metal that made up his bones. Dave holds either of his arms, his knee planted against Loz’s back. His face is completely drained of colour.  
“Now my head, please.” says Loz.  
Dave sniffs hard, his eyes glistening “Thank you for helping us.”  
He nods “Oh, ‘fore y’all do that…do me a favour, rip open my chest? He ain’t gone bother y’all now.”  
Loz’s body has fallen to its knees like you. It twitches spasmodically, trying to get up. But having its arms ripped off has made it effectively harmless. It crawls forward on its belly, propelling itself by digging its heels into the dirt, but not at a rate that will make it a risk to you.   
There are still bodies coming towards you, to the only gap in the light sheets at this point. Most of them are only at the end of the street and will be upon you and the rapidly shrinking gap in moments.  
You hear voices in the distance, calling Loz’s name.  
Dave kneels beside Loz and sinks his fingernails into Loz’s cloth chest. His face blushes with the effort as he rents the rib-cage down the middle. Stuffing spills out, accompanied by sawdust and a bit of dirt and a handful of stones that seem to mock the vertebrae.  
Loz’s buttons, one of them cracked down the middle, are aimed at the sky. The sky is dully reflected in them, and for a moment, you think you know what his real, live eyes would look like. Not the cornflower blue they reflect, but something as light and unfathomable as the sky.  
It surprises you to find hot tears in your eyes.  
“Paw through me, yeah? Find me the bell in there, lil’ man.”  
Dave sniffs, forcing a weak smile “Only my brother calls me that.”  
“Oh yeah? I call my brother…I can’t remember no more, but I reckon he…hated it…nah, wait, it was…Jamie. Called him Jamie. Like his proper name, but it weren’t his proper name. He hated his proper name too.”  
Karkat wheezes and coughs. He gives himself a violent shake and seems to regain his strength, hopping from your outstretched palm to your knee. He lifts his wings, but thinks the better of it. The bird hops onto Loz’s shoulder, walks up the side of his face and settles on his forehead, looking down at him.  
“Thank you,” he says, like he’s sharing a dark, bitter secret “You sure saved our asses. From your own body, but, like…the thought that counts.”  
Dave extracts a bell. Nothing is remarkable about it that you can divine, except that it was pulled from the straw guts of a scarecrow that has just sort of saved your lives. The bell itself is in the vague shape of a human male (you hope it’s human) and topped with a slim, polished wood handle. It’s about the size of your hand and makes a slight chiming noise as Dave picks it up.  
“Put it in yer pocket,” orders Loz “Say nothin’ ‘til ya know it’s time ta.”  
You find the time to frown, between glancing at the body squirming to you on its face, at Loz’s guts and at Karkat, who you are really concerned about at this point “Please no more mysteries. I’m not sure how much more I can…”  
You want to tell him you can’t handle much more of this, but what the hell kind of thing is that to say in front of Dave? Your little brother, God bless his tiny, twisted heart, saved you by tearing the arms off of another semi-living being. So you’re freaked out. What the hell have you got to complain about apart from that?  
You correct yourself “How much more time I can waste with all these mysteries. Do you need us to go on an errand? I’m sorry, but the priority is getting home, for us, so if you need us to do a separate errand, could you just outline it in tiny words?”  
Loz would be smiling if his cloth face were capable of it. Even the painted grimace of the teeth and the jawbones seem to communicate some kind of fatherly mirth. It makes your teeth ache in the strangest way, summoning up a violent urge to punch him.  
You don’t. You just listen.  
“Y’all keep that attitude on ya, and yer gonna get even loster.”  
“Loster?” repeats Dave quizzically.  
“Don’t infect him with your terrible grammar on your death-bed.” you close your hand around Loz’s limp, straw shoulder (in the place of his hand, which Dave still has) and squeeze, with no idea if he still has any kind of physical sensation.  
The sheets of light are almost closed. The body is getting too close for comfort, and you could reach the others with a few steps now.  
“Dave, go on over,” says Loz “I got somethin’ Dirk only gets ta hear.”  
Dave doesn’t argue. In the state of shock that he is in, you’re not surprised. In fact, you don’t even mention it when you notice he has picked up both of Loz’s straw arms again. Karkat limps over to him and hops onto his arm, then Dave pops him on his shoulder. The frog peers out at you from Dave’s hood.  
“I need ta whisper it.” insists Loz, before he will tell you what he needs to.  
He whispers it.  
“What?”  
He repeats it: “Y’all’re a lot stronger than y’all think…ya jus’ gotta swim…and the shore ain’t always the place ta go back ta.”  
The tears that have gathered in your eyes spill over. This time, Loz does laugh. He laughs hard and happily.  
“Now fuck the fuck off.”  
You leave him without hesitation. Lifting Dave up by the seat of the pants, you toss him over the fence and follow him. The sheets of light are close enough for you to touch each of them by the time you are over the fence.   
“Thank you!” you call to Loz.  
He says nothing. The mess of straw you have left is just that- a mess of straw.  
The sheets of light slide shut and press together just as the first of the bodies reaches the fence. It is the woman you saw standing in the middle of the street earlier. For a moment, you stare into her milky eyes and she stares straight through you, completely unaware that you are there. She loses interest quickly and stumbles away, putting her foot through the remains of Loz’s chest. Her foot catches on one of the sticks. She looks down. You can almost hear the rusty gears in her brain grinding against each other as they try to turn. Then she kicks the straw from her foot and continues as if there was nothing there.  
“Loz said her name was Meulin.” says Dave.  
You believe him.  
“Karkat, are you ok?”  
He shrugs “I heal quick.”  
Dave cups him in his hands and inspects the bird carefully. He seems satisfied that Karkat is fine, but still wants to carry him, and Karkat doesn’t object. You lead them in a wide loop around the town, back to the main road. You don’t look at Pottsfield for longer than a few glances, but they are enough to tell you you are being watched.  
By the scarecrows, who watch you as they make for the safety of their hatches throughout the town. By the bodies, who freeze when they see you and watch like dogs convinced a scrap is about to fall from the table. None of them try to move through the shimmering barrier. When you reach the main road that extends from Pottsfield, you spy the argyle scarecrow standing in the middle of the road.  
You wave. Dave lifts one of his hands and one of Loz’s arms and waves with both.  
“Bye Meulin,” you add.  
She doesn’t move.  
“He said his name is Kurloz. He said we should talk about a Kurloz when we need to talk about him, instead of just Loz, ‘cos it’s rude to use nicknames for people you barely know.”  
You take Dave’s hand and start down the road.  
Karkat is sceptical “Wait a fucking second, I was around you the whole time. He never said any of that.”  
Dave rolls his eyes “He said it in my head, duh.”  
The frog croaks, as if it agrees that is absolutely the most obvious explanation.  
You’ll worry about that remark later. For now, you just worry about the empty road in front of you.  
It stretches back into the forest, wearing a blanket of autumn leaves and the shadow of a creeping night.


	8. Hard times thanks to the old Grist mill

Your name, at this point, is not known.  
You’re that young man again. The one we first met? With the wrench? Yes, that’s you. You’re the wrench guy again.  
At this current moment, you are toying with the idea of killing the two boys that have just wandered into your path. Thanks to the amount of time you have passed in the Unknown, you are basically a part of the landscape. Unless a person’s eyes are enchanted or they are specifically looking for you, no one sees you. This gives you a wealth of time to decide what to do with these two boys.  
They are obviously brothers.   
The elder brother is dressed in an ink-black travelling-cloak that veils his every movement, giving the impression of a shade or a shadow that has split from its source and begun to travel the world. His complexion doesn’t help much either- skin the colour of fresh milk, with a handful of dark brown freckles that stand out miles on the bridge of his nose. The younger wears a simpler outfit: coarse breeches and a shirt, one of those thick winter coats that make children howl every time they are thrust into them. His hair is the colour of corn-silk, like his brother’s, but his skin is far lighter.   
You have seen a few like him before. The boy that lived in the mill-house; his skin was the colour of snow, until it saw the sun, at which point it crisped to an angry red almost on impact.  
A green frog is nestled in the hood of the younger. A red bird (A cardinal? A finch? It’s little, fat and has a Mohawk, that’s all you know. You’re terrible at identifying anything that doesn’t have hooves) sits on the shoulder of the elder and participates loudly in the conversation.  
They seem to be investigating the contents of a belt that the elder wears. The younger laughs appreciatively as the elder pulls Grist after Grist out of the pouch.  
Now, if you had just seen the Grist in the elder’s hand, you would have shot him on the spot with the hunting bow you carry. Grist is dangerous. Grist is extinct, you thought. The Echeladder trees that once bore them were miraculously wiped out by a strain of fungus so potent that after it was done with the trees, it would leap off the trunks and attack passers-by. There is no way that Grist should be growing after all this time.  
Anyone who knows anything would know that possessing Grist is one of the most dangerous things you can do in the Unknown. What tells you that these boys are not from the Unknown is the fact that they are handling the Grist as casually as if they were tossing berries about, and laughing all the while. This is the only thing that stops you from killing them where they stand.  
Anyone who plans to use Grist, in your opinion, is another Beast waiting to happen.  
However, anyone who handles Grist while laughing is, in your opinion, either profoundly stupid or arrogant, or completely foreign to your world.  
The bird’s reaction is more on-par with what you expect to hear.  
It forces itself to speak in a whispering hiss, suited to the subject material “Holy shit, you are raging morons. Dork, I am being serious. I am not being funny or ironic or sarcastic I am being as deadly serious as the fucking plague, Dork, you need to put those away this fucking instant or…I don’t fucking know. Some mysterious watcher in the woods will shoot you through the chest and eat our brains.”  
While you have no plans to scoop out their brains, you are certainly still wondering if you should shoot these kids. They may be innocent of the true nature of Grist, but they are made dangerous all the same by just carrying it. Never mind the fact that they treat the Grist like toys.   
You knew they were coming.  
When the moon changed colour, there was no other explanation. These boys have obviously entered from the outside world. Their mannerisms are all wrong for one who knows the Unknown- the fact that they are this deep in the Unknown at all without a horse is enough to tell you that they have no idea where they are. The bird may know, and the bird may be acting as their guide, but that cloak? What kind of boy wears a cloak of that quality as if it is just another piece of clothing he may take out every day? A cloak like that belongs at a summit of witches, in potter’s field in the dead of the midnight, or most appropriately, perhaps, at a Grist Harvest. It does not belong on the roads of the Unknown, to be worn as casually as his brother’s winter coat.  
This is the conclusion you have reached: the boys are lost and the bird is taking them somewhere, presumably to feed them to one of the pasture-witches. You would have made discovering its business your priority when you took the boys to the inn, as you planned to do when you left the inn.  
However, now that you have seen the Grist, you are not going to approach them. You’re going to have to put the red moon and all it could become entirely out of your mind for now. Unless the boys somehow dispose of the Grist safely, you conscious prevents you from approaching them. Two lost boys, strangers to you, compared to the entirety of your friends at the inn and what little remains of your family out in the larger Unknown?   
The choice is not easy, but it is quick.

 

Dave glances over his shoulder “Did you hear that?”  
“What, the sound of our imminent and painful dooms? Uh, yes, I did, because your brother refuses to put away those demon berries.” growls Karkat.  
The cardinal seems to be close to spontaneous combustion. You are surprised he hasn’t sweated out all the water in his body, because he really has reached the boiling point of rage. For some reason Karkat isn’t bellowing his rage for the entire Unknown to hear and discuss. This should be a clue- this should unnerve you, it really should. By now, you should have gotten the hint that what you’ve got in your hand is really the terrible stuff Karkat swears up, down, left and right and all over the place that it is.  
He still won’t tell you what it is or what it does. When you first pull them out he was stricken by such a terror it literally knocked him out of the air. He recovered quickly to fill your ears with forecasts of death, doom and misfortunes if you didn’t put the stuff back in your belt. Better yet, start a bonfire in the woods, toss those things on the fire and run the fuck away.  
“I swear I heard someone.” insists Dave “Dude, we’re being followed.”  
“By the spectre of death.” adds Karkat “Because Dork doesn’t like being in one piece. He wants to be torn to shreds and served cold with mead.”  
You glance over your shoulder “We’re not being followed.”   
Although you saw about six bodies escape from Pottsfield, you haven’t seen a single one of them on the path or in the surrounding area since you set out. The possibility that you might had you completely on edge for the first half-hour, but you can only stay terrified for so long. You’ve got something like a quota of fear that you can fill, and you’re close to filling it up for today. The prospect of turning to find a person behind you- maybe a body, maybe that ‘beast’ thing- doesn’t fill you with terror at this point. Just makes you a little wearier.  
Dave mulls it over for a moment. He looks between you and the path several times.  
“Ok, I changed my mind. We’re not being followed.”  
Relief. Palpable. An affectionate hair-ruffle seems appropriate.  
“Dork, put those things back in your pocket.” orders Karkat “Or I’ll rip your nose off your face.”  
Whatever sympathy he earned for you by getting squeezed half to death while he was protecting you and Dave has quickly been overwhelmed and replaced by exasperation. How can such a little body contain so much concentrated anger? This guy needs to go to anger management therapy, if they have it for birds. If they don’t he can just sit in on a human session. Seriously, you’re not sure of how much more of this relentless angry you can take.  
“Dork, are you listening to me? Has one of my words penetrated that foul gourd you dare to call a head? Do I need to get some kind of word-club to beat sense into you? I’m serious. If you don’t put those things away, I’m going to pick up Dave in my tiny beak and my tiny claws and fly into the sunset to safety.”  
If Karkat didn’t have a way out of the Unknown planned, you would have grilled him by now (even though your stomach has yet to grumble, and Dave hasn’t even mentioned food).  
What has him so freaked out are the small clutch of bullet-like spheres you found in the belt you appropriated from the mill-house. Karkat being a local with the local expertise, you should probably listen to him when he says these things are dangerous. It just irks you that he thinks he can tell you what to do and where to go without a word of explanation. In your time, you’ve followed way too many orders that are basically senseless without asking. You’ve been trained not to ask; just to do it.  
If the order came out of the right mouth, you would probably swallow these bullet things.  
But you’re far away from that guy right now. The furthest away you have ever been since you were born.   
“Karkat, I’ll put them away if you just tell me what they are. Obviously I’ve got some kind of gold-mine of intimidation tactics and, like, coercion, or something, sitting in my belt, from the way you’re flipping your shit over them. Does it make me a war criminal to be carrying these, or-”  
“Yes.”   
“Why?”  
Dave interrupts “Jeremy is hungry.”  
Karkat bristles “Hush Dave, we’re talking about our continued existence. Those things that you’ve got- the name is taboo, ok?”  
You roll your eyes again, even though the effect is lost behind your shades “Ok, so I got myself a hot hand of blistering Taboo here. What do I do with it?”  
Karkat scoffs in disgust “The name is a taboo, not literally taboo!”  
Dave grabs your cloak and tugs insistently “I’m hungry too.”  
Great. The moment you start thinking about food, he starts thinking about food. Is he psychic or something? Well, he did say he heard Loz talking in his head. You’re still not sure what to make of that.  
“Are you saying you’re hungry because you want to eat or because you physically need to eat?”  
Karkat snaps “Dork! Focus!”  
You snap right back at him “I’m focussing on Dave, here! We haven’t eaten once the whole time we’ve been here, and the day is almost over. He’s too small to go that long without eating.”  
“The hell I am.”  
And now you’ve offended Dave. This is wonderful. Ok, you’ve got to deal with this one thing at a time. Just to make Karkat happy, you slip the handful of the bullet-things back into your belt and button the pouch shut. His relief is such that he actually whistles with relief and it seems like he might bust out into full-on bird-song. He doesn’t, of course.  
“See, now you’re being smart. What would be the fucking genius thing to do in this situation would be to even forget you have those cursed things.”  
“What if someone tries to mess with us?”  
His little eyes grow to the size of dinner-plates “No. Don’t even joke. Dirk, I’m serious, you cannot use those things.”  
For the first time, you feel that overdue sinking sense of dread “Ok.”  
“You promise me you won’t?” he asks earnestly.  
“I need to know what I’m carrying,” you nod to Dave “I can’t put him at risk.”  
Karkat sighs. He hops into the air, if only to get away from the two of you. But he doesn’t power-flap away like you’ve learned he does when he thinks he’s about to lose an argument. He just keeps pace with you.  
“You’ve got no idea what you’re doing here, do you? Not the barest fucking clue?”  
You nod “I’m trying.”  
Dave tugs on your cloak again “I’m still hungry.”  
“Eat the frog.”  
Scandalised, Dave punches your leg “Don’t even joke! Jeremy is a part of the group! You wouldn’t tell me to eat Karkat, would you?”  
“Dave, can you let me deal with one emergency at a time please?”  
He frowns, but backs off.  
You turn back to Karkat “So, this stuff-”  
“Shut up.”  
“What?”  
“Shut up, or we’ll all be killed.”  
A shiver climbs your spine. You look up the path, expecting to see Dave’s shadowy stalker. Instead, you see one of those old-fashioned school-house things peering out of the trees. It is situated deep in the woods, on a grassy knoll by the side of the path. The school-house has a steep red-roof with a little brass bell on the top you might think was quaint if you hadn’t seen something similar to it on the town-house of Pottsfield.   
Next to it is a long, low house with a row of small windows in its flank. Both of the buildings are made of the same rough timber that built Pottsfield.   
Again, you’re getting a real ‘Lincoln’s log cabin’ vibe from this place.  
The door of the school-house is propped open by a foot-stool. From the open door, a voice drifts out.  
“…founding fathers declared the land the Unknown. Now, as you know, most of the towns that the founding fathers went off to set up are now in ruins, but that is what comes of immorality.”  
Sounds like the most fucked-up history lesson ever.  
You shoot Karkat an uncertain glance “Are we gonna be killed because they hate us or because I’ve got this stuff?”  
“The stuff. Not a word about it…if I get even a premonition that you’re about to say something about the stuff, then…then…”  
“You’ll dive down his throat and eat his vocal cords.” suggests Dave.  
“Yes. That.”  
You approach the school-house with Dave in tow.


	9. Freaky little kids and zombie abduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that was an enormous delay between chapters. My fault entirely. Laptop broke and i had a whale of a time getting a new one. But it's all good now.  
> I will be updating regularly from now on.

A little known fact about you, Dirk Strider.  
You’re scared quite easily, by certain things. Thanks to your draconian upbringing (which is putting it very kindly), most of the fears that would trouble the average teenager have been beaten out of you to make room for the fear of God, which your father was fond of putting in you. Only a few fears remain lurking, those which it proved impossible to remove or diminish.  
Fear of death. Fear of failure (for a good reason). Fear of clowns.  
The strongest happens to be the most embarrassing, and incidentally, the one that attacks you as you approach the door to the school-house; creepy children, dressed in starched white shirts, black shorts, or those horrible littler dress-apron things they used to cram little girls into/  
There are about twenty children in the room, arranged in rows that are almost empty. You have only to snap a twig underneath your boot for every single one of their small, pale faces to turn from the teacher to you. Forty dry eyes trained on you all at once, their expressions dull and curious.  
Shit.  
Shit.  
Shit.  
It should comfort you that there’s a teacher here. An adult, to control them and whatever creepy nonsense they might try to pull on you. A woman, taller than you by a larger margin than most grown women are, coloured like chalk or frostbite. Her hair is tied up in a tight bun on the top of her head and she wears the kind of old-fashioned dress housewives from the mid-1800s are always depicted in. She stands in front of an old-fashioned, white-smeared chalk-board, behind a scuffed desk with a pile of books on top of it. Looking up from the one book on the top of the pile, her lip curls. It reminds you of the way a big cat’s face crumples just before it roars.  
Oh, you are done. You do not want to be here.  
In your pocket, your clenched fist bumps something. Loz’s bell. For some reason, this sends a wild spurt of courage into your system and unhinges you mouth, untangles your tongue and makes you say: “Sorry to barge in, but could you give us a hand?”  
The woman looks you up and down with the air of a pawnbroker appraising a battered object being thrust under their nose. The children stare at you and between each other, conferring silently.  
You have a sneaking suspicious the children are going to charge you and tear you to pieces with their little, blunt fingernails. Should that occur, you imagine Karkat will grab Dave by the collar and fly him to safety. Raise him as one of his own, one of the cardinals. According to the rules laid out by your ironic childhood classic, ‘Sharkboy and Lavagirl’, Dave will grow wings, get fat and gain a little Mohawk by virtue of just hanging around with the birds long enough, and when he grows up he’ll land a semi-starring role in an embarrassing franchise that will require him to be shirtless for 80% of his scenes. Well, as long as he gets away unscathed, you guess you can’t really complain.  
“We’re in the middle of a lesson.” says the woman.  
Her voice reminds you of the way you always imagined your grandmother would sound, from your father’s stories. The stories usually involved him getting beaten and were told as a comparison to your own situation, to get you to stop bitching and get on with your homework, chores, or just to shut your fucking face.  
You scrounge up the courage to talk back “And we’re in the middle of an endless forest with a cold night on the way, without any idea of how to get home. I really am sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid of what would happen to us if I don’t.”  
The woman squints at you. Perhaps searching for malice, or ill-intentions. You don’t blame her. She hasn’t seen Dave, so as far as she knows this is just one large, possibly threatening (in this cloak, you could be anything to her) boy or man (can she tell? People have mistook you to be twice your age) encroaching rather aggressively into her school, demanding shelter with some interesting grammar. As far as you can tell, none of these children are older than twelve. From a certain perspective, you could certainly be said to be the greater threat in the room.  
Of course from where you’re standing it’s these children that should be lashed to poles and burned as witches, but you doubt that is a popular sentiment.  
“Well, are you going to introduce yourself?” she asks stiffly “Or am I to invite you into our school without the foggiest idea of whom it is I am addressing?”  
Code Usain, you think, Code fucking Usain.  
Dave comes to your rescue. He pops his head around the door-frame, looking just the right mix of adorable and bedraggled to make the woman’s stern face soften as she lays eyes on him.  
“We’re lost. Like, really lost. We don’t want to be trouble, but we also don’t want to be in the forest tonight, so…” he trails off and knots his fingers in your cloak.  
Karkat alights on your shoulder “Please, miss. We mean neither you nor your charges harm of any description. We are merely a handful of tired souls with the misfortune to have lost our path. These boys have experienced a great many difficulties today, too terrible to repeat in the presence of such a score of tender ears.”  
If it wasn’t wired closed with the tension thickening in the room, your jaw would fall open. What the hell was that that just came out of Karkat’s foul mouth?  
He has struck a chord. The woman’s shoulders slump.  
She nods “I certainly hope your intentions are as polite as your words, little bird. And can you vouch for the quality of the intentions that have driven you into these woods as well as you can vouch for yourselves?”  
Karkat barely hesitates “Intentions? You presume us to be on a quest, miss? No, this is a return journey. We are all three of us lost in the depths of this wood.”  
She cocks a slim, greying eyebrow “What do you seek?”  
You feel it is appropriate to break in “Just home, miss.”  
Her pale green eyes turn on you like a burning spotlight “And where is home for you? And what do I call you? A man, or a boy-child?”  
Your mind goes about fifteen directions all at once, each time picking a lie that’s so complicated, so well-thought out you must have been planning them all in the back of your mind this entire time. You’re sure all of them are going to come back to bite you in the butt with continuity issues, so you figure it’s best to tell a thinly disguised version of the truth.  
You won’t tell her how you got here. Not because you don’t really know how you got here, but because she has to think you and Dave are as much locals as Karkat and Jeremy. Why does she have to think that? No idea whatsoever- you just know she has to.  
These calculations take about two seconds inside your head. Mercifully, you face has remained carefully neutral all the while. Apparently your conditioning to show as little emotion as possible is useful for something.  
“Boy-child,” you say “My home is…distant. As is my name.”  
Every bullshit fantasy story you ever watched, read or heard about rushes back to you at once and puts the words in your mouth.  
“The place where I come from cannot be reached from where my brother and I have had the misfortune to find ourselves, so there is little point in mentioning it. I fear it would only depress you. Suffice to say that we are so far from home that I fear at this point that the journey to return will take as many years as I have already lived.”  
Because Karkat didn’t mention the adventure to the pasture and Adelaide, you won’t either. You’re really going to need to get some context for this world and where you’re headed from him before you invite yourself into anymore creepy places in the Unknown.  
“That is hardly a satisfying answer, but I do not wish to discuss this in front of the children. The lesson will last for another thirty minutes. You may spend that time…”  
She seems to catch herself, as if she is about to reveal a secret as dirty as yours. Her eyes flick over the class, which is about halved in the directions the children are facing. Half stare slack-jawed at you and the other half stare expectantly at the teacher, waiting for her to remedy the problem. Only two of them aren’t looking at either her or you- they’re looking at each other in a kind of silent, grim terror you can’t be sure you are entirely responsible for.  
Surprisingly, it is these two that she addresses.  
“Sollux, Eridan, the two of you have read ahead, I believe?”  
They are both boys, as far as you can tell.  
The taller of the two stands up stiffly, his arms glued to his sides “Yes miss.” a lisp butchers his words.  
Her face is flinty and cool “Since there is no sense in repeating a lesson you have recently committed to heart, I would consider it a personal favour if the two of you would take our company for a stroll around the grounds. Perhaps show them the gazebo, or the room where they will be lodging tonight. Would you be so kind?”  
The second one stands up and follows the taller one down the aisle, the two of them marching like soldiers through the ranks of their disinterested classmates. Truly, you have never seen a group of children like these. Not in the most boring of lessons. These children have transcended bored. Their faces are empty. Their mouths are closed and loose, and you expect if they opened all that would come out would be a stream of dust. They kind of remind you of those pictures they show in Social Studies or Modern History of shell-shocked children in war-torn countries, still wearing the rubble of their blasted homes and the blood of their dead families.  
Except for the two that approach you. They are alert, scared and completely relieved to have been given permission to leave.  
You back out of the doorway to allow them past.  
The woman gives you one final uncertain look before she puts her face in the book and begins to recite, recapturing her audience. The taller of the two boys removes the stone that held the door open and closes it quietly.  
As it shuts, his whole body shivers. The smaller one sighs and turns his pale, freckled face to the sky, which is getting darker a lot faster than you had anticipated.  
Dave stares at the two with the special brand of awe and suspicion he reserves for bigger boys who might pay attention to him.  
Once again, he offers his real name without hesitation “I’m Dave.”  
The tall kid (really tall for an eleven year old, actually, almost 5ft 8) sticks his hands into his pocket and slouches his shoulders, relaxed for the first time “I’m Sol and this is Eri.”  
Eridan nods towards Dave absent-mindedly, which makes Dave light up behind his shades. It’s not often that he gets attention from somebody bigger and therefore better than him, unless it’s you.  
Well, it was Jake too.  
You don’t know if you want Jake to be around anymore, even though that would break Dave’s heart.  
You’re sure that Jake doesn’t want you around, anyway. Not after the way you lost it at him.  
No time to think about that, though, not right now. Right now you have to worry about finding out where you are.  
The children start to walk away from the school-house. With every step they take from the bright red-roof they relax a little more, growing playful with each other as they bump shoulders and exchange furtive smiles. They are not leading you towards the low house, which you take to be the place they sleep in at night, but behind it instead.  
Sollux is fair and has the most unusual eyes you have seen in a long time- one red, one blue. There’s a huge population of red-eyed weirdoes wandering about these woods. While his limbs are already losing their baby-fat and becoming lanky with the approach of puberty, Eridan is made up of circles, with a tiny belly swelling against his stiff shirt. His hair is dark and fluffy, hanging around his round face in curls that somehow seem the opposite of the flat curtains of flaxen hair around Sol’s sharp chin. His cheeks are spattered with freckles that are growing more numerous the longer you look at him, and he’s got these big purple eyes that make you dizzy to see. No one has heard of normal eye-colours in this place, like the common brown or a simple grey.  
Even compared to the triumph of cute that is your little brother, they both manage to be disarmingly adorable in their own way.  
“Don’t babble in front of them just because they’re kids,” Karkat hisses in your ear, apparently reading your mind “None of those things kids are just kids.”  
You respond through gritted teeth “I’d have to be blind, dumb, deaf and brainless not to notice that. What the hell are they?”  
Karkat is quiet for a moment.  
When he replies, his voice is tired and husky “I don’t know if I know, Dork. I don’t know everything.”  
You feel guilty for pushing him when he sounds like this, but you’re not quite prepared to go easy on him after the day you have had “You and me are gonna have a heart-to-heart about Pottsfield and everything else, so prepare yourself for that. I mean it. We’re breaking down walls tonight. Don’t you dare think about brushing me off either.”  
Karkat’s feathers puff up suddenly in flurry of fear. Because you are turned to him, you get a face-full of feathers.  
“Tonight?” he repeats, his voice unusually squeaky “The nights are for sleeping, Dork. Not talking. No, you gentlemen will park your fleshy asses in that charming cabin with that sinister pack of children, and I will find a nice, warm, dry hollow in a tree to park myself in and that is how it will be tonight and that is final. There will be neither talking nor heart-to-hearts during the night.”  
Before you can argue, one of the kids speak up.  
The freckled one, Eridan or Eri: “W-where are you really from?”  
They stop, having lead you to a thin but deep stream with steep, sloping banks. Sol is on his haunches on the grassy bank. Dave tries to copy his pose, but doesn’t have the balance to stay on his haunches. He falls back onto his butt and stays there in an effort to preserve his pride and make it look like he meant to do that.  
You can’t help but glance around for concealed figures in the grass before you reply “What do you mean where am I really from?”  
Eridan shrugs his narrow shoulders “That w-was a fine tale ya told Ms Rosa in there, but it was jus’ a tale. She’ll work the real tale out ‘a ya unless ya go in w-with yer lies all straightened out an’ ya ensure that both ‘a ya know-w exactly w-what ta say.” He taps the back of his dark head “She’s got peepers back here, I sw-wear ta ya! She know-ws ev-verythin’!”  
“Eri thinks that Ms Rosa can read minds because he’s a terrible liar,” says Sol with a touch of amusement “I kinda believed you guys were really lost when you were talking. But only kinda. I’m not that hard to trick either, so when you guys go to talk to Ms Rosa you kinda do need to know exactly what you’ll say.  
Your pride prickles a little bit, to be so suddenly instructed by two little waifs that were too timid to talk only a few moments before. The change that has come over them is remarkable. Both are now bright and alive in a way that you find hard to define or justify, except for the fact that there is now some colour in their cheeks. No dust from their mouths, either.  
“What makes you think we’ve got something to hide?” snaps Karkat, a far cry from the way he spoke in the classroom “We’re lost and that’s it.”  
Eridan wrinkles his nose in thought for a moment, then surprises you “Are you off to see Ms Adelaide in the pasture then?”  
“No!” says Karkat at the same time that Dave says “Yes.”  
Sol picks up a rock and tosses it into the water “Which one is it?”  
Karkat shoots Dave a withering glare “We are, but I don’t see how it is any business of yours.”  
Eridan bristles “He was just asking! Ain’t it kind our right ta know-w w-what yer up ta? I mean, yer gonna be stayin’ the night w-with us, yeah?”  
“Unless your Ms Rosa decides we’re too dangerous.”  
The two kids look at each other and laugh with a shocking bitterness for their age-range.  
“We’re the dangerous ones. You’re the least of her concerns.”  
“Hey, who’s that on the other bank?” asks Dave.  
Your stomach is already in knots before you look up.  
It’s one of the bodies. You know by the colour of the skin (not that different to the colour of the children in the classroom). It is caked in dirt like a second skin, its clothes in tatters. This body you do not recognise, but it must be one of the ones that slipped out past you when the walls were just about shut.  
In your pocket, Loz’s bell has grown hot. In the confusion you failed to notice it until now, when it is practically burning a hole into your thigh. The bell must be sensing it or something- that’s the only reasonable explanation, to your mind.  
“Cronus?” croaks Eridan.  
Sollux reacts as if he were struck by a brand “You told me he was sick!”  
Eridan’s eyes glisten “He ain’t sick, he’s dead! He w-was there w-when…w-when it all happened.”  
Karkat leaps into the air and hovers over Eridan, his voice dead and calm “That’s right, he’s gone. He’s gone and there’s nothing you can do to bring him back, so don’t even think of following him. You’ll be a lamb to the slaughter, believe me.”  
“Yours too?” whimpers Eridan.  
“Mine too.”  
“Your what, Karkat?”  
Before anyone can react to anything, a heavy hand lands on your shoulder and you  
You  
You

 

 

“What did you get, Dirk?”  
You almost don’t hear him. The sound of your blood in your ears is a flat-out roar at this point. A train rushing through a tunnel. A metallic taste climbs into your mouth. A low, dull pain throbs in your temples.  
“Not that good.”  
Jake doesn’t pick up the cues. There are very few cues to pick up in the first place, but what little there are Jake is certainly sure to miss every time. A tradition of his, you would say, missing the obvious and the painful when it desperately needs to be noticed.  
Oh God, you feel sick.  
“Almost straight A’s again,” he notes with a hint of jealousy “Well done, chap. I don’t know how you manage.”  
Your tongue is thick “Oh you know, study my ass off. Every night all night.”  
Where you were struck last night, your jaw has begun to sting. The bruise has been expertly concealed with foundation bought specially for the purpose, but you cannot shake the feeling that it is standing out on your face like a stop-sign and the only reason Jake hasn’t pointed it out in alarm is because he wouldn’t notice you were hurt if you collapsed bleeding into his arms. Or maybe that isn’t fair.  
You just don’t know anymore. You don’t want to know anymore.  
All that is important is this: you have flunked Gym.  
Should be the easiest subject for you, what, with the training regime you’ve been on for twelve of your fifteen years. At a glance, it is easy to tell that your wiry muscles are as strong and accomplished as that of the average professional athlete. Throughout the school, you’re known (among other things) for being fast as whip at track and strong as an ox otherwise. Sports are easy for you. Every team game you play, you think of as a kind of top-secret mission. Pretending to be one of the crew. Earning their respect for a handful of fleeting moments with your physical prowess, but the joke is on them, the entire fucking time because you don’t care about their approval and it’s a big, delicious joke that you’ve tricked them into liking you if only for a single period…  
You shouldn’t have failed Gym.  
You’re good at it. Every lesson, your teacher remarked on it.  
That you weren’t applying yourself or involving yourself the way you have in all the previous terms- the previous semester, as far back as they have been teaching you. They did everything from accuse you of thinking yourself above the class to asking you if you were ill in their attempt to get to the root of the problem.  
But because your teacher is a female, never once did she think to ask why you always change in a separate stall. Then she might have figured the problem out. In fact, all she would need is one look to immediately gauge the situation.  
Your father stepped up the training this year, probably because he senses that you have finally figured out what he does to you is far from the norm. Making it harder is a way to keep you quiet. A far more effective way to motivate you than anything as pedestrian as threats.  
And this is how you respond?  
You can imagine yourself trying to explain it to him.  
You’re so tired. Every nerve aches. You can’t lift your arms above your head without a dozen twinges of pain all over your body. You think something might be broken. You just couldn’t preform: it hurt too much; you were so dizzy; you don’t think you ate enough or eat enough; you’re just so tired all the time…  
A blackness opens up inside you. This void is something you are quite familiar with. It sneaks up in moments of acute failure such as these, only you’re not sure if it has ever been so wide or deep before. Never before have you failed like this.  
You become aware of being hunched over. Jake holds a wad of tissues to your nose and blubbers about the nosebleed, laughing, also kind of afraid because you haven’t brushed him off and you aren’t laughing with him.  
The plans that lurked at the back of your mind come to the front and assert themselves as the only option.  
You agree.


	10. Thank you, magic pants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out I can't write from the perspective of a child.  
> On the bright side, do I see a little bit of childhood love Erisol there? If I squint? Like, squint until I shut my eyes?

Your name, and this is really, really exciting, is Dave Strider.  
Look at that! You get a narrative! Apparently the audience could find something interesting in what the limited world view of a seven year old has to say! What a joy this will be, right? Yeah, except for the fact that some zombies just kidnapped your big brother and your special spirit guide.  
Leaving you alone with these two strange boys, whom you haven’t known for more than fifteen minutes. They could be any kind of monster, but they’re the only allies you and Frogon have got. There’s no question about going back into that schoolhouse. You suspect that woman collects kids or something- why else would they all look so miserable?  
You just have to work with what you got. Not much, but you’re determined. And at the moment, so damned mad you forget to be scared.  
Dirk sort of sags the moment the second zombie touches him. It freaks you out to see him buckle right into those dirty arms out-stretched behind him. Is it possible that these zombies know the Spock-touch? Well, whatever you do next you’re sure as heck not going to let them touch you.  
The zombie thing drags him back. Karkat freaks out and starts screeching and pecking at the thing’s face and shouting what you think is a name.  
“KANKRI DROP HIM THIS INSTANT YOU (cuss) OR I’M GONNA STUFF YOUR (cuss) UP YOUR (cuss) YOU’RE DEAD YOU STUPID (cuss) SO LAY DOWN AND PLAY IT IF YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME, I PROMISE YOU’RE COMPLETELY, 100% (cuss) DEAD THIS WILL SOLVE NOTHING AND WILL BRING THE WRATH OF HELL DOWN ON YOUR STUPID ROTTED HEAD!!” and stuff.  
He keeps shouting, but the zombie barely notices him, let alone his attacks. Only after the second time Karkat lands a hard strike on Kankri’s face, scoring big scratches that won’t bleed, does Kankri act against him. He snatches the bird out of the air, stares at his struggling captive for a moment, until it occurs to the zombie to stuff the bird into his pocket.  
Dirk is slung over the thing’s shoulder. It turns and walks away with a surprising speed and coordination, for something that’s probably been dead for longer than you’ve been alive.  
You try to run after it, but Sollux catches you and picks you up. He holds you kicking and scratching above the ground pretty easily, while Eridan calls out to the zombie on the other bank as it too disappears into the shadows. Sollux covers your mouth.  
“You can’t go after that! It’s gonna kill you!”  
Have you got the energy to explain to him how you’re as good as dead in this place without Dirk and Karkat to protect you? No you don’t.  
So you use one of your favourite school-yard tricks and swing your leg backwards, kicking him in the fork of his legs.  
He drops you and falls to the floor with a faint wheezing noise. You have made it about two steps before Eridan grabs you by the collar and lifts you so high most of your torso is above your head.  
“You don’t know-w how-w many of those are out there! Could be the w-whole of Pottsfield!”  
You wriggle uselessly “It’s not! It’s not! Putmedownputmedownputmedown…”  
Just when you think it can’t get any worse, Frogon leaps out of your shirt and hops to the shadows. That’s the final straw. Leaning back into Eridan’s hand, you throw yourself forward and practically launch yourself out of his grip. It works. Landing heavily, you scramble on your hands and knees after Frogon and tent your hands after him just before he springs behind the first tree. Eridan’s on you in the next instant. Again, he picks you up and drags you back to the bank, which he must think is a safe distance. In the process your shades are knocked off. It doesn’t panic you, for some reason. Maybe you’re just too freaked out about one thing to pay attention to the other thing?  
Struggling is kind of useless, but you try anyway. He pins you down with your face to the grass, the way you’re used to being pressed into the floor by the bullies and increasingly your dad, except Eridan’s a lot more gentle. He handles you like you’re a delicate doll. Obviously, he’s a whole lot stronger than you and even stronger than Dirk.  
“What are you gonna do?” you demand, your voice squeaky and muffled by the grass “If you’re not gonna let me go after him, are you gonna just let him die?”  
Sollux slinks over to you, on his belly, his face drawn with pain “We’ve gotta be smart about this-”  
“What’s gonna be smart is to go after him before he gets too far away!”  
Sollux exchanges a confused glance with the boy sitting on you “That’s not the way the Unknown works! Don’t you know anything?”  
That is the second final straw. It’s bad enough that your big brother is getting hauled away to parts unknown by things that want to eat him, but these guys are treating you like a little kid now? Sure, you’re a little kid, but you have done a whole lot of big-kid stuff today and they had better cussing recognise!  
You say something you regret as soon as it’s out of your mouth “Not that much! I’m not from here, ok? That’s why I need them back or I’ll never ever get home!”  
Eridan pushes your face further into the grass “Shut up, Dave!”  
“ED, get off of him!”  
He obliges and lets Sollux straighten you up and wipe the dirt smears off of your face with his sleeve, like brushing off the dirt is going to reveal where you’re really from. Will it? No, no, you’ve got these scary red eyes and Dirk dressed you right and if you talk funny no one will suspect a thing.  
Unless you blurt it out, the way you’re blurting it out now “I’m from a different place. Look, I don’t know how we got here.”  
Sollux has recovered really quickly from your kick. Too quickly “What’s the name of the place where you live, Dave?”  
Because you’ve gone this far already, you don’t bother trying to come up with some mystical fantasy land name “I was born in Texas but we moved to Seattle because it was too hot in Texas or something.”  
The other two look at you like you’re an alien.  
“Born?” repeats Eridan incredulously “W-what the (cuss) do you mean you were born?”  
You don’t have the time to waste explaining it to him (not that you’re sure of how it works, yourself) “I’m not saying anything else until you let me go after them.”  
He groans.  
“Dave if you’re really not from here, you can’t go in those woods.”  
“I was walking around them all day,” you protest, your lip trembling despite your effort to blink away the tears “With my bro and Karkat. We were fine.”  
“But did who did you meet, Dave? Did you got to Pottsfield?” he presses.  
“Yeah!”  
“And how did you get there?”  
He looks like he’s about to tell you you’ve got a tumour or something “We followed the signs, genius! It’s not that hard.”  
“Uh, yeah it is,” says Eridan, wiping his eyes on his sleeve “I’v-ve been trying ev-ver since Cro died to get to Pottsfield, but they alw-ways take down the sign, and w-when the sign is dow-wn no one can get there. They put up this shiny dome ev-ven if they let people come near so no one can get closer than the fence and the town’s just all quiet and dead, except for their dead.”  
“Well, yeah, that did happen, but like, only after we had done some other stuff.”  
Then you remember your vow not to tell them anything and clam up.  
They push and prod you, trying to get you to talk again. Eridan is especially insistent, so much that it kind of scares you. You’re good at not reacting though. Even with your shades still lying in the grass, you’re good at not talking or not looking like anything. Your dad has taught you that’s the best way to be, so other people don’t get on your case because they can’t think of things to say about you or get a rise out of you and stuff like that.  
It only pops into your head now, and you think it’s funny: never once since you got here have you missed him. Your dad. Having Dirk here feels like enough. Safer, in fact. A lot safer. And you haven’t had Dirk laughing or smiling or wanting to pick you up in a long time.  
You really want him back. And Karkat, because Karkat keeps Dirk busy when he starts to look like he’s going to get scared again.  
“ED, leave him alone. He’s crying.”  
“Oh for- listen, kid, the corpse of my brother just kidnapped your brother. I’m not cryin’ though, am I?”  
“I’m seven. Seven year olds cry.”  
Before they can find something to say to that, the bell on top of the school-house rings. Sollux and Eridan each grab one of your arms and hurl all three of you into the rushes on the bank. Your foot splashes into the water. Eridan slides all the way into the water with no noise, leaving you and Sollux and Frogon on the bank to watch.  
The doors of the school-house creak open. Ms Rosa walks out. Behind her follow the other children in two lines, kind of like ducks with everything cute and sweet and fluffy removed.  
“Be really still.” orders Sollux “Don’t move until I tell you.”  
“I think Eridan is drowning.”  
“No, he’s fine. He has gills, duh.”  
Nice. You file that little bombshell away for you to freak out over later.  
Ms Rosa leads the children to the other house, the long one where you saw beds through the dirty windows. Outside, she looks a lot less scary. She is still tall and imposing, but now that you look at her in the bright light instead of the eerie dimness of the school, her face changes from terrifying to stern. Kind of reminds you of the way your bro looks at Dirk.  
And you like what she’s wearing. It’s a kind of old-fashioned dress that pinches in at the waist, with wide, white and green skirts and a green blouse attached to it. The dress covers up every inch of her, with a tube-shaped collar and long sleeves and those weird, poofy things at the shoulders.  
She’s really pretty, in a mom kind of way. Also the way you think that big animals like wolves are pretty, like, noble, because they’re large and solid and strong.  
“She won’t help us?”  
Sollux shakes his head “She wants to keep me and Eridan here. All the time. We’re really….we’re dangerous, but we’re not so dangerous.”  
“What-”  
He puts his hand over your mouth “I promise I’m gonna tell you everything later. Listen, we need to get that girl away from here without anyone noticing what we’re doing.”  
You follow his eyes towards a girl at the very front of the group. Ms Rosa seems to be watching her out of the corner of her eye. She’s got lots of messy dark hair and olive skin that’s kind of washed out, like she doesn’t see the sun a lot. Her eyes are big and green and completely hollow. You really don’t want to go get that girl.  
She stops and looks up from the ground. Some of the other children bump into her, which causes the whole line to come to a shuddering stop. A few faces become thunderous at the interruption, but they remain silent. The girl peels away from the line and heads to your shades, which are still laying where you dropped them.  
“Jade, come back.” says Ms Rosa sharply.  
The girl tugs at a lock of her hair nervously- the most human thing you have seen one of these kids do.  
Ms Rosa repeats herself. Jade points into the grass, opening and closing her mouth several times. Her teeth are all jagged and point in a few different directions. She doesn’t seem to be able to talk, which suits you fine. That way she can’t say anything about the shades that she points to. Ms Rosa doesn’t realise what Jade is trying to do. Instead of investigating, she breaks away from the front of the line with a stern command that they all stay where they are, and seizes Jade by the arm. She pulls her back into the line a lot rougher than is necessary and keeps her beside her at the front of the stiff procession into the second house. The door slams shut.  
Sollux cusses.  
“Doesn’t she see that Jade was trying to talk? Jade’s never done that before! What a stupid woman, how did she not notice?”  
He rolls onto his side, to face the stream. The top of Eridan’s head emerges, his hair plastered to his face. Apparently, he also saw the whole thing.  
His voice gurgles underwater “You think she’s close, then? To bein’ better?”  
Sollux nods furiously “Lock up is in ten minutes! We’ve gotta get her out of there before that, and before Ms Rosa starts to look for the rest of us!”  
“Why didn’t she look for us when she came out?” you ask, bewildered by everything that has happened so far.  
“She can’t. Listen, this is our only chance to get Jade out and if we’re going to fight then we’re going to need Jade.”  
Fighting hasn’t even occurred to you as a possibility. In your head, you have an image of yourself sneaking up on the camp of the zombies (there’s always an enemy camp in the movies) and untying your brother (the captive is always trussed up on a pole or something, until the enemy has time to cook them) and getting Karkat out of his cage (which they would conveniently have to hold the small prey animals they usually have for dinner) and just sneaking the cuss away before any of them have a chance to catch you. Also, you figured you’d hear some valuable intel on the zombie plans to march on a town or whatever, because that’s what always happens to the hero. Then you could run ahead and warn the town, right?  
Eridan and Sollux would come with you as your brawlers or archers or hunting experts.  
But now that you think about it, that’s a cuss stupid plan and you’re glad to have some older kids here to set you straight. They don’t need to know that, though.  
Your brain switches into what your dad calls business-mode, when everything else takes a back-seat so your survival instincts can take over and call the shots.  
“Ok, how do we get in?”  
They both look at you.  
“You’re stayin’ here.” says Eridan, rising out of the water up to his neck “This is really (cuss) dangerous, kid, you could get hurt.”  
“By what? What are you guys?”  
Now they look uncomfortably at each other. Sollux swipes a piece of grass off the bridge of his nose, and Eridan stares sullenly over your head.  
“Should we tell him?”  
Eridan nods “Otherw-wise he w-won’t quit askin’. Dave, you hav-ve parents, right?”  
“I have a Bro,” you offer “I mean, he’s my dad, but we call him Bro ‘cos he doesn’t like subscribing to conventional labels and their connotations.”  
Sollux blinks “So…so he’s your father, right?”  
“Right. I don’t have a mom, though. She’s dead or something.”  
“Oh. W-well, I had a father and no mother as well. He told this story-”  
You interrupt “Listen, I don’t have the time to waste here. We’ve gotta go get my brother. If you need that Jade girl to get my brother, then I’m gonna get the Jade girl. Sollux, hold my frog.”  
You thrust Frogon into his hands and are up and off before they can protest. You approach the house casually. The other two are hissing a mix of cusses and pleas for you to come back while Frogon croaks happily. You ignore them. Until you’re in the shadow of the house and you can see through the windows, then you stop and re-consider your decision.  
Through one of the cracked windows, you can make out Ms Rosa leading child by the arm to a pen, like the type they put pigs in. She opens the door and presses her hand to the back of the child’s head, pushing them into a crouching position. Then she ushers them inside with her foot and shuts the door of the cage, securing it with a piece of ropes with complicated knots. Along the walls, you see other children in cages. Three, lined up like a display for a live-stock market, all hunched up into tight, silent balls on their sides, facing the walls.  
Your breath catches in your throat.  
She’s a witch, obviously. A witch collecting children to harvest their meat and you and Dirk just strolled into her practicing some kind of old magical ritual in the school-room. Actually, it looked like a lesson, but maybe that was just a game she plays to make the children think they’re safe? Or even worse, maybe that’s how she makes them so dead on the inside, with those lessons they think are just boring when they first come, but they’re really sucking out their souls. Sollux and Eridan must be too scared of her to run away, especially into the remote woods where no one can help them.  
You doubt friendly-ish and helpful Woods-Women are lurking around every corner.  
On the bright side, although this scares the living cuss out of you, it does confirm that magic is real. You cussing knew it was, no matter what Bro says about the Tooth Fairy. It also steels your determination to get the Jade-girl out, or rather, free her, now. Ms Rosa is busy tying up the other children. Jade caused a problem, so she probably tied her up first and close to the door. If she used rope on Jade too then it should be a simple matter to find something sharp to get her lose.  
You summon your courage, thinking of Dirk, and stroll up to the front door. She has left it open.  
At the exact moment that you reach the splintering door-frame, Ms Rosa passes through the long throat of a hall that extends in front of you. Your heart leaps into your mouth, your legs turn to water and you almost pee. She passes with her head down, her hair loose now and hanging in front of her eyes.  
She doesn’t notice you.  
Breathing again, you creep into the house, wary of a creaky floor. She closed no door behind her, so she could come out again at any moment. If that happens you’re just going to flatten yourself on the floor or the wall and hope she completely misses you. You’re starting to wish for the first time that your bro had started your exhausting training regime as early with you as he did with Dirk. That way, you would be able to sneak through this hall no problem.  
Instead you’re reduced to crawling on all-fours on the rough floor. You move quickly and quietly, chewing on your bottom lip every time your clothes scuff the floor or your palms make a noise as they meet the floor. If she put away Jade first, she probably has her stashed somewhere at the front of the house, right?  
The first two rooms you peer into are empty of cages. The first is full of books in leaning towers and old shelves that surround a desk, buried under papers and ink-stains. The second is a kitchen. Your stomach complains so loudly at the sight of food, you’re so certain you’ll be caught that you somersault into the room and scramble under the nearest available piece of furniture. For a few airless seconds, you wait for Ms Rosa to barge in brandishing a butcher’s knife with a pointy witch’s hat on her head.  
When it becomes apparent that this is not gonna be a thing any time soon, you inch out from under the chair you hid under, surveying the kitchen. One of those big iron ovens crouches in the corner. Bundles of grains hang from the ceiling along with a couple of strips of mystery-meat on hooks. Well, a lot of strips. Like, almost a ceiling of meat-strips. Actually, there’s a lot of meat around. On the stone counters in slices and on the floor (not very clean) in pieces so big they must have just been plucked out of the animal.  
It grosses you out so much you’re almost not hungry anymore, until you spot a glossy green pepper (a capsicum?) and a piece of bread arranged on a plate. You seize both and stuff them into your deep pockets. Your knuckles whack painfully on something hard. Rooting around, you find what feels like a handle and end up pulling out about half a foot of shiny metal. A knife, with a simple, polished wood handle. No model that you recognise. Instinctively, you weigh the weapon in your hand and judge that it would be a fine weapon for you, but probably better for Dirk. You can use it if you need to defend yourself.  
It should make you feel safer, but it doesn’t.  
You get back on all fours and creep out, poking your head carefully around the door. The hall is still empty. God, you wish one of the kids would at least make a noise. Then you would know they’re alive. What has Ms Rosa done to them?  
Lucky for you, the second room you investigate has what you want. Jade isn’t in a cage, though, she is lashed to a large metal pole that is built like a column the way it goes from floor-to-ceiling, but is in the centre of the room. Instead of ropes there are chains around her wrists. Two, looped around the pole several times and around her thin wrists like bracelets. She looks up when you come in with a dull curiosity.  
You consider shutting the door. The witch might notice something. Well, you don’t want to take the chance of having the door open while you’re doing this, in case she walks past. There’s no question she’ll see you.  
It is probably only a matter of time until she comes out to look for you and the others, once she’s done with the cages, you expect. That doesn’t give you very much time.  
You talk to Jade in a low, comforting voice the way you would talk to an animal “Hi Jade. Want to get out of those?”  
Approaching slowly and carefully, you wait to see if she will lash out at you. Jade’s eyes aren’t completely focussed. She seem to be rapidly losing interest in her surroundings. You set to work while she’s unfocussed. She could change her mind. Any second, she could decide that she likes your face better clenched between her teeth than on your head.  
For a second, all you can do is stare at the chains and curse your luck. Why does she have to be in chains? They are seamless, with no lock as well. Witch’s chains, or something. You have absolutely no idea of what to do here, unless you can somehow summon the strength to break that iron pole in half. Not even Dirk could do that.  
With nothing else left to you, you decide to just pull out that knife and start to saw. You string a length of chain between your knees and start sawing at one of the links as quietly as possible. On the very first stroke, the knife slips through the metal like you’re sticking it in butter.  
Unexpected. But also good.  
“Thank you, magic pants.” you mutter under your breath.  
“Magic pants.” repeats Jade absently.  
Her voice is childish and scratchy. It’s such a relief to hear that she can actually talk you want to sweep her up in a hug, but you’re simultaneously terrified she’ll behave like a frightened dog if you do that.  
The chains are off in a second. Afraid to cut her, you leave the chains wrapped around her wrists. Anyway, you can use them like a leash. Jade doesn’t stand until you grab her under the arms and pull her to her feet. She looks at you with a spark in her eyes for the first time, suddenly aware.  
“Magic pants?”  
“I’m Dave.”  
Thankfully, she copies your whisper “Dave.”  
“Can you be quiet, Jade? We gotta sneak.”  
By way of answer, she clamps her mouth shut and allows herself to be lead from the room. Her footsteps are uncertain and slow. You double back and loop an arm around her shoulder to hustle her along. You peek out into the hall and see the hem of Ms Rosa’s dress swishing around the doorframe. She appears and heads for the very back of the hall. At the same time, you slip out of the room, clutching Jade’s chains so they don’t rattle, and walk as quietly and quickly as you can to the front door. By now, the sky is almost completely dark.  
The thought of being with these people all night while Karkat and Dirk are stranded by zombies spurs you towards the door. Ms Rosa’s footsteps recede behind you. You continue forward. A door creaks open. Your knee knocks the jamb on the way out.  
You whip around the side of the house and drag Jade with you. Inside, a door closes.  
Sollux and Eridan are both flat on their bellies on the bank. Frogon sits on top of Sollux’s head, happier than a king on his throne.  
Jade brightens at the sight of Eridan and Sollux “Hi!”  
They gape at her.  
“She’s talking?” bleats Sollux.  
“Look at that Jade, you’re talkin’!” exclaims Eridan.  
Jade holds out her arms, as if inviting them for a hug. The boys stare as her chains fall away. Still on his stomach, Sol picks up an end and looks at the cut.  
You draw the knife out of your pocket “I used this. It cut right through the chains.”  
Both of them squawk and gulp at the same time and make fluttery gestures.  
Eridan is so shocked he forgets his stutter “Where did you get that?!”  
“Magic pants!” announces Jade.  
“Magic pants,” you nod “Now let’s find my brother, for fuck’s sake.”


	11. You're a dude, Karkat.

Your name is not important at the moment.  
The name that is important is for what you are feeling right now.  
You desperately want word for it.  
A word for something that you can only grasp at.  
It’s a certainty.  
It’s an uncertainty.  
It’s a wish.  
It’s a terrible, fatal regret in the making.  
It’s a fall into the cold.  
It’s a landing into a colder, harder place.  
It’s awful.  
It’s better than what you were sure you had picked.  
You know that you know it now, and in another moment you will carry on as if this confusing cocktail of toxic bitterness and buoyant joy never washed over you, because to your mind, it never will have.  
But what is it that you forget?  
Why is it that you forget it- what purpose can the loss of this strangeness, this creation, this unmaking…this transformation, what can its loss truly serve?  
Why must you forget this?  
And just when you have happened across a word for it.  
Why must you forget death?

 

 

Karkat.  
Fragments of him.

 

There’s another one- a snatch of bright red nabbed from the corner of your eyes as they open for just a split second. The harsh moonlight beats your lids back down.

 

Karkat again, but not him. But, at the same time, it is him. The eyes are unmistakable. Wide and bright and unquestionably human, though they glare from the face of a bird. Only now, they don’t. Now, he grips your hands in his own, somewhat smaller, colder, hand and shakes you shoulder with the other. He says your name over and over again, mixed in with a few choice curses.  
Your actual name as well, which is strange to hear out of his mouth.  
“Dirk, wake the fuck up. Don’t think I was just blowing hot air when I said I’d jam my fist up your nose if you don’t wake up right the fuck now. I mean, right fucking now, like the sunrise. There’s one fist for each nostril. Try and stop me.”  
Your tongue is like wet sand, and kind of tastes like it “You’re a dude.”  
A variety of emotions flash across his face. Relief is chased by fear, chased in turn by repulsion you suspect is aimed at himself, and finally, his features settle into the cast of an anger that you decide is a very classic Karkat.  
“Yeah,” he agrees grudgingly “I’m a dude. I’m assuming that’s another one of your outlandish words for ‘boy’.”  
A few hours earlier, before you pulled out the Grist that frightened him so badly, you had to explain the meaning of ‘bro’ to him and he was disgusted at the thought that a “slaughtered” word such as that could pass into the every-day vocabulary. Your dialects are quite different, although the curses match each other toe-to-tip, and he had admitted back then to not understanding a lot of stuff that you had said. More than just what the hell a ‘Germany’ was.  
But he’s a dude.  
A full-blown dude. Not that there’s that much to speak of. You can tell, pulled into his lap, that there isn’t more than 90 or 100 pounds of Karkat altogether. He has the solid but slim dimensions and wiry muscles of an older teenager, accustomed to a lot of hard work and hard living. Already, his ace gives the impression of clothing that strains at the seams to cover its owner’s bulk, and is lined. You can understand that. You have a good crop of worry-lines coming in around the corners of your eyes and on your forehead, so you look like an aging fisherman when you frown.  
Karkat’s skin manages the impossibility of being dark and white at the same time. When you say white, you mean snow white. It is his features that give the impression of the dark skin; a gently hooked nose and hooded, pretty eyelids with a thick frame of lashes. His skin pigment refuses to play along. Yet another similarity to Dave- this is just too weird.  
He’s got a nice, roundish face and an eyebrow game that would make Link seethe with jealously. His hair is loose and wavy not quite to the point of being curly. You kind of like the red Mohawk better than this fluffy white stuff that collects around his jawline and the nape of his neck.  
You reach up with the feeling that your arm is not quite connected to you and poke his rounded chin.  
“Excuse you.” his voice is the same as it was when it was coming out of the bird’s body.  
“How is this happening?”  
In the time it takes you to swallow the taste of sand and to ask the question, Karkat has wrestled you to your feet. Only when you’re standing (with the help of his hands planted in the small of your back) do you realise how truly grand the height difference is.   
“Karkat, you are dainty.”  
You have a feeling there is something life-threatening wrong with you right now. Or something that has been done to you. You were definitely in terrible trouble until very recently.  
He grunts with the effort of keeping your numb body up while the blood flows back into your prickling legs “I am not dainty, I am compact. Dainty boys don’t have muscles.”  
“But you do,” you insist, enchanted by this form he has taken “You’re like an enraged pixie.”  
He repeats this bitterly under his breath several times, bruising the feeling back into your legs with his feet. They are bare and calloused from dozens of walks through rough under-brush.  
The story is self-evident.  
Obviously, Karkat is cursed. He’s either a talking bird cursed to be swollen and twisted into a human (?) boy by night, or a boy cursed to be crushed and stuffed into the downy body of a bird by day. When the moon touches him, his forms switch out. Good thing for him this curse apparently includes clothes when it changes him into a human.  
So romantic and clichéd it makes your teeth ache. Makes you want to put on a tu-tu and spin and fling yourself all over the stage tragically while a brilliant piece of classical music narrates your mood and the villain, dressed all in feathery black, cackles and rubs his hands together by the side of the stage.  
Shit. Wait a minute.  
“Corpses. Corn-people.”  
You try and fail to stand up on your own. Luckily, Karkat’s heels are solidly dug in. He keeps you on your feet.  
“What the fuck happened?”   
“Nothing good.” he removes his hands for a moment and is relieved to find that you stay upright, if only because you have been sort of wedged into the undergrowth “They’re still around, which is why I’ve been giving my slapping hand a good work-out. We need to get back to the school as soon as possible. Those two kids, we need to get them the fuck out of there while they’re still kids.”  
“Karkat,” your eyes strain into the darkness, searching for enemies “I know your opinion of me couldn’t be lower if it was doing the limbo, but if I’ve just walked us into a death-trap could you please give me a hint? Or better yet, just stop me entirely. I need some help here.”  
He coils a thin arm around your back “Harass me about this when we’ve got the time to waste.”  
You don’t argue.  
Karkat has to help you walk, because your legs are still not quite your own. He hustles you through the trees as fast as he thinks you can go- not that gently, either. Lucky for you, you have somehow managed to keep all of your clothes, the weird cloak included, throughout the ordeal. It’s kind of embarrassing that you had to be unconscious for the whole thing, to leave all the hard work to Karkat. In fact, it’s kind of embarrassing to be slung over the frame of a guy you barely know, who was a bird when you met him, just to walk. You’re not in the habit of relying on other people. The Unknown doesn’t allow for that.  
“Mind telling me what happened? I mean, is there a reason I’m kinda…not in my body, or am I having a stroke?”  
Karkat is quiet for a moment. The moonlight coming through the trees provides only fleeting glimpses of his face, now that you’re moving, but you can see that he is frustrated and a little afraid. And nowhere near as good at concealing his emotions when he has a face that is actually capable of emoting.  
“I’m surprised that you’re worried about that,” he says sullenly “The true emergency here would be the fact that I’ve suddenly grown hands and lost my wings, right? So what are you playing at?”  
“Priorities, bro.”  
Let him make of that what he will. Honestly, you’re having a hard time choosing what you should freak out over first, so this really is just you prioritising.  
“Priorities.” he mutters “Your stupidity is the one consistently outstanding thing about you, Dork.”  
“There are zombies chasing us, right? I’d say my stupidity sounds more like common sense. Then again, maybe it’s a little cruel to expect you to recognise something like common sense. Can’t really know what you’ve never experienced.”  
“Oh how I wish they’d taken the feeling out of your tongue. Maybe I’ll just drop you here and let them start on you again until they reach your face. Then, when the power of speech is just a dream to you, I’ll zoom back in and rescue you.”  
“Damsel style,” you add good-naturedly “But I’m being fucking serious, you douche, just tell me what’s wrong with me.”  
“They were trying to take your body over.”  
“But you stopped them.”  
“No I didn’t. They’re still doing it.”  
Panic threatens to seize you. The numbness that moves through your body becomes sinister and calculating, moving of its own will. It seems to flow through your nerves like a shark testing the strength of its prey, bumping into your limbs to make them go slack, into your organs to make them chill and slow their processes. You don’t want this.  
Your voice grows a little squeaky “How do I stop it?”  
“We kill them again.”  
“You know one of them.”  
Karkat’s jaw tightens “You think I’ve been conspiring against you this whole time with the good people of Pottsfield? Oh, now you’ve convinced me. Now it’s fucking story time and you better perk your ears up.”  
You can’t feel your ears at the moment “Perked.”  
As he talks, you make a steady progress through the woods. You hear nothing behind you to prove that the corn-things are following you still. Then again, you do have the wandering numbness climbing through your body, so you’re able to believe him easily when he tells you there are corpses not too far behind you.  
This is what happened to Pottsfield.  
A long time ago, an illness came to Pottsfield. At the time it was one of the many, small, strange towns that are apparently scattered liberally through the Unknown, although Karkat claims the distance between these towns is such that each one might as well be a kingdom. It surprises you to hear there are enough citizens of the Unknown to found more than just one town, but you don’t interrupt.  
Because he is telling this story from the perspective of his brother, you sense it is inappropriate to interrupt to mock him. In fact, the revelation that Karkat has a brother at all, combined with the fact that he has not always been a bird, is just about enough to shut your mouth completely. The entire time, you do not imagine the corpse of the scare-crow that was called Kankri; that Karkat pretended not to know the entire time he was in the town. You picture Dave.  
Pottsfield was already known for having an unusually active nightlife. No one had a word for them, although they had been around more than long enough to produce a wide variety of camp-fire stories and legends that, in this world, really were solemn warnings not to mess with what went on in the fields at night. They were simply called ‘those guys’, which kind of made you want to giggle at the beginning of the story, because it sounds like something you would tack onto them.  
For a while, ‘they’ were deflected by locking doors at night and observing a strict curfew that had people inside before dark fell and prevented them from leaving their houses until the mornings were well into the sunrise. Sounds like a bitch to keep in the winter months, to you.  
Kankri went to live there when Karkat was young. Karkat supposedly has a whole childhood behind him that was spent in a human body, innocent of the curse waiting for him. You notice that he refrains from describing the place where he lived. Maybe it’s not important to the story, or maybe it’s something else.  
You don’t want to think about that now. One dirty secret at a time, please.  
One season, shortly after Kankri had moved to pursue a career in ‘traditional medicine’ (you read this as ‘witchcraft’), a young Pottsfielder stumbled out of the fields in the middle of the night and lay down in the middle of the street. When the town awoke and discovered the unpleasant surprise, it was apparent to them that this young woman had trespassed into the fields and flaunted the old laws that had been the only things preserving their peace and health. But they were a kind town, says Karkat, and they are all remembered fondly even if they were kind of naïve bastards for thinking a little bit of tender care was all Ms Damara Megido needed to get back on her feet.  
It was not. Damara had contracted some kind of disease from a bite obtained in the fields. She was quickly robbed of her power of speech and was unable to explain how this had happened to her. Also, her symptoms remained mysterious until they could be physically observed. It is generally taken that she must have been scorched from the inside by a fierce fever. Her disease was not communicated by a bite, the way she contracted it. It seemed to infect the very air.   
Only three days after Pottsfield reported Damara’s illness, the town was sealed away under an impenetrable, translucent dome. Karkat suspects Kankri’s involvement. The town was sealed away and a week later the signs that pointed towards Pottsfield were removed. Quite suddenly, the roads became impossible to navigate to the town. No matter who tried and with what equipment (magical stuff, you think, since these people don’t seem to be that far past the wheel) no one could get within striking distance of Pottsfield, let alone within peeping distance.  
No one has ever reported visiting the place. Since people go missing all the time in the Unknown, it is difficult to keep track of who’s gone and what there is to assign the blame to.   
Which isn’t to say that a few of the corn-things haven’t escaped. That is how the rest of the world outside knows about the conditions of Pottsfield, or how they can guess at it anyway. The corpses stumble out every now and then to wreak some havoc, steal some bodies, locate their kin and kith and scare the living shit out of them for kicks.  
Technically, the three of you, plus the frog, are the only ones to survive an encounter at Pottsfield. Loz is the only citizen that Karkat knows of to escape.  
Still nestled in your pocket. At the mention of him, you summoned your strength and put your leaden hand in your pocket. You closed your fist around the bell, relieved to find it- him?- where you left him.  
You clench and unclench your hand several times, trying to work some of the feeling back into it as you digest the news. Amazingly, it works. The numbness is far from banished, but it creeps backwards to concentrate in an unpleasant, chilly knot in your back, like another hand dragging you back as Karkat pulls you along.  
“…so in summation the gods have wasted an incredible stroke of luck on you and I think you should just lie down and die anyway.”  
“Cool story, bro. But how do we stop them? From stealing me?”  
Karkat’s face is flushed with the effort of supporting you “We get rid of the bodies that are hosting the illness.”  
“Headshot?” you suggest.  
He gives you a strange look  
Odd that he understands the connotations of ‘dork’ while something like ‘headshot’ sails over his head. You’re almost beginning to think you’ve fallen into a different reality, or...  
Or…  
Well, what else could this be, but a different reality?   
You want Dave back, right fucking now.  
“Tell me what to do.”  
Karkat laughs in your face “You don’t do a fucking thing, my friend! You get to sit on your ass like a princeling while I take care of this.”  
“Don’t leave me on my own,” you blurt before you can stop yourself “I mean, what if you need help?”  
His face softens just a little bit “You think you can help me, the way you are?”  
“I can try.”  
“And fail.”   
Karkat stops a few minutes later.  
He has finally found what he was looking for- a place to back the two of you up against, so you couldn’t be sneaked upon. A sheer face of rock rises up suddenly from the forest floor. There are no cliffs nearby, so it’s kind of bewildering to you to find this random, convenient cliff waiting here.  
Karkat lowers you to the ground, putting your back against the mossy face. The moss is so deep and thick you sink back into it a few inches, until it’s actually rock at your back.  
Straining, you try to move your legs. They respond slowly. You try to stand and find that your legs moving for you was a one-off. Without Karkat spurring you along, your legs are about as solid under you as a cooked noodle.  
“This is so shit.”  
Karkat faces the shadowed forest empty-handed “Shut up, Dork. I’m the one doing all the hard work here, so, just accept my philanthropy and sit back and let me kill my brother’s corpse for you.”  
“Karkat, why are you doing this for us?”  
He squares his shoulders and does not face you “No reason. Nothing better to do. You think I like living like this? I…none of this is for you. This is all for me.”  
Those words send a shiver through you more numbing than the sensation that is now probing your deadened arms. You take a long, hard look at Karkat.  
What does he get out of this?  
You know you would be doing this had your position been reversed with his. If it were Karkat crumpled underneath this cliff while Kankri searched desperately and Dave’s little, white corpse stumbled towards the prone brother on unsteady legs, you would so be where Karkat is right now. Putting your little man to the rest he deserves. Protecting him and his body and his legacy because you love him the most and the best out of everyone in the world.   
Is this what Karkat is doing? Using you as a proxy- protecting Dave’s brother because he could not save his own?  
Somehow you doubt it.  
Karkat seems too smart and self-aware to let himself be drawn into that kind of roundabout coping strategy.  
“You’re dangerous, aren’t you?”  
He scoffs “You’re the one with Grist in your pocket. So what if I’m dangerous. What the fuck are you proposing to solve that, then? Are you gonna ditch me?”  
You lick your dry lips “Hell no. I love me some danger.”  
Another moment slips past in the quiet. Rustling of leaves and crunching in the undergrowth that raises hairs on the back of your neck as it draws closer, and the freezing sensation grows more acute.  
“I’m not gonna hurt you.” mutters Karkat.   
“I know.”  
The corpses appear in the tree-line. More than two of them. Far more than just two of them.  
Karkat snatches up a stone and prepare himself to fight.


	12. A beating of another sort

Your name is Dave Strider and you are running right now.  
The girl, Jade, she runs like a dog. Down on all fours, and she’s good at it too. Not like a little kid that’s pretending. Like she was never meant to stand on two legs anyway. Sol and Eridan aren’t struggling to keep up with her, although it’s basically all you can do to trial behind them. If it weren’t for the way your dad has been on you about exercise since you were walking, you’d have been left alone in the dark a long time ago.  
Jade leads you over fallen trees, up and down steep slopes and zig-zags occasionally across the path. She’s taking a long route, you think, because sometimes she stops suddenly and doubles back to circle around something. Avoiding houses and the road, if she can. You haven’t seen a house yet, so she’s doing it well.  
The further Eridan and Sol get from the schoolhouse, the happier they are. Their faces are flushed with the effort of running, and with happiness. They’re laughing in between breaths and smile at each other like everything in the world is the way it should be.  
You wonder if they’re boyfriends.  
You’re trying to think of everything but what is happening to Dirk and Karkat.  
In the movies (the movies you’re not supposed to see, but that Dirk lets you watch anyway), zombies are after flesh to eat. Here, you think these zombies just want a nicer place to live. Their own bodies are so dirty and worn, the layers of dirt are probably the only thing holding them together. If you get there and you see that Dirk isn’t Dirk anymore, you don’t know what you’ll do.  
Maybe Karkat will let you live in his nest with him? You would grow wings after a while and turn into a cardinal and spend the rest of your days eating worms and maybe forget you ever had a brother.  
Or maybe Eridan and Sol will take you in? If they’re boyfriends, then maybe they could be like two dads and you’d be the baby son or something.  
They’d be better than the dad at home.  
Why are you trying so hard to go home?  
You’ll ask Dirk, when you save him, because you are going to save him no matter what, and you’ll ask him if maybe it would be nicer if you could just live here. Not go to school and not see your dad and not train anymore, not unless you really wanted to. Dirk would miss Jake. You would miss your best friend, John…but maybe they could come too?  
If you could tell them where you were, then Jake and John could come and find you and you’d be alright.

 

Your name is Dirk Strider and you are about to see a second person die today.  
Karkat isn’t going down without a fight, you’re sure, but that does not mean that he will not go down easily. There are just too many of them. Ten or fifteen, none of which you recognise apart from the first two.  
You’ve got no idea how these corpses plan to fit themselves into your body, but now, with them this close, you can almost feel the individual hands groping about inside you, for a purchase in your mind and tissues. They don’t want Karkat’s body. The curse must make it unattractive. How do you know they don’t want Karkat’s body?  
Well, they’re trying to break him.  
With his first stone, he took down one of them. The stone impacted on the skull and sent it crumpling inwards, like a tin can crushed underfoot. That body fell and just for a second you could feel your body. Then the others advanced.  
There are about eight of them left. Karkat has had to get very creative now that he has run out of stones. You almost threw up when he wrenched up the shirt of one of the fallen corpses, exposing a long, red slit, like a mouth where the vertebrae of a brittle spine were teeth. Karkat tore this spine out and used it to brain his next aggressor. The weapon is flailing and inefficient, but at least it has kept him from being pinned flat.  
They want to tear him open, you think.  
To replace what has broken inside them. To look. For no reason at all, except that it will kill him.  
And they’re doing it.  
With each blow that lands, Karkat gets a little weaker. His arms are cut open from long nails and his body is blackening with bruises. Earlier, you heard a snap after he took a blow to the chest- a rib is cracked too.  
You try to stand.

Your name is Dave Strider and you’ve lost the trail.  
Jade stops, stands and tells you this herself “I lost him.”  
Eridan and Sol look at each other and laugh, delighted to hear Jade speak so easily.   
You blink back tears “You lost the scent?”  
She nods “It’s covered…by dead things.”  
“Can you follow the dead things?”  
Shaking her head, Jade notices the dirt covering her dress and dusts herself off in embarrassment “Too many dead things. I don’t…the way to go. Too many things, too many ways.”  
What would Dirk do in your situation?  
Dirk probably would have never let you get snagged by the corn-people in the first place so he’d never have to ask himself this question, but…but Dirk would be smart about this. He’d know what to do.  
“How about the oldest scent? I bet the oldest one belongs to the things that have Dirk and Karkat, and the others followed them. In fact, aren’t the scents all going the same way?”  
Jade shakes her head again “They all go different ways. No following. Not here.”  
“Well just pick the oldest one.”  
She points to a tunnel of dark trees with their canopies tangled in each other. You go first, because she’s reluctant to move.  
“Come on,” you urge “Let’s run.”

 

Your name is Dirk Strider and you’re on your feet.  
It hurts, make no mistake. It hurts a lot to force yourself to stand on legs with no sensation but Karkat needs your help. His blood is everywhere.  
He’s shouting at you “Stay down!”  
It’s all the time he has to say before he’s knocked to the ground and set upon once more.  
You stumble towards him at a snail’s pace, knowing you are never going to reach him in time.

Your name is Dave Strider and you can hear them.  
You can hear Karkat screaming for Dirk to get back and then just screaming, and then to run, run, run, don’t look back, just run as far as he can.  
“I hear them!” cries Sol.  
“Jade, don’t eat them! W-whatev-ver you do, don’t eat them, they’re just filthy!” adds Eridan.  
You’re in front, so at first you think Jade shedding her shape is just a trick of your eyes. But it’s not, because then she shoots ahead of you and she’s now a giant, galloping wolf the colour of summer trees and her jaws are wide open and steaming.  
She powers ahead of you.  
Sol dissolves into a swarm of yellow insects- the biggest bees you’ve ever seen. Eridan doesn’t change, but now you see there are purple gashes in his throat, right above his collar, gills flaring in an effort to keep up with the others.  
You call after the wolf “Don’t hurt Dirk! Or Karkat!”

Your name is Dirk Strider and you think you’re crazy or dreaming.  
How else are you going to explain the green wolf?  
It tears out of nowhere and rips the corpse off Karkat and tears it to shreds. A second later, a cloud of insects descends on the other corpse and drives it back towards the tree-line with its stingers. One of the kids from the school materialises behind it and punches, literally punches his little, clawed fist right through the corpse’s stomach. Clumps of wet, dirty stuff that looks like half-dried mud sprays out. The kid tugs the corpse down to his eye-level and puts his other hand through the back of its head.  
Well, that’s that problem solved.  
At once, the feeling rushes back into your body. You stare at your hands in awe, spinning drunkenly. You’re never going to feel this good in your body ever again.   
“Karkat!”  
To your dismay, the puddle of blood around him is such that no matter where you go your feet will be stained red. You kneel beside him and gather him carefully into your lap. His face is untouched, for some reason, apart from a long scrape on the side of his cheek. You’ve had enough beat-downs to know a wound that will scar badly when you see one, and this one is going to make Karkat look like a hardened gangster. Beyond that, almost everything is broken.  
One of the kids comes up at your side “Is he aliv-ve?”  
“Yes,” gurgles Karkat “Fuck you, Mr Death, I’m still here.”  
Even with his own blood welling in his throat, Karkat manages to make every syllable sound like a filthy insult.   
Eric or Eridan or whatever leans over you “I’m not Mr Death. My name is Eridan.”  
He wears gloves of blood on each hand and shiver slightly, although you suspect this is due to the cold and not to the heinous kill he just made.  
“I know that,” retorts Karkat “I was talking to myself. Fucking, fuck…everything hurts.”  
“Karkat, don’t move,” you summon your courage and lift the hem of his shirt to search for hints of bone.  
His chest is not pummelled concave, as you feared it would be. Nor are there shards of bone sticking out of him at every angle. But still, the news is not good. You see his stomach is blackened and bloody from taking so many blows. He wears bracelets of dark bruises around his arms and legs.  
The blood comes from many shallow cuts and the type of head-wound that spills obnoxious amounts of blood. You’ve had more of those than you care to count. More than enough to know what you need to do.  
Propping his head up on your arm, you stand and step away from the puddle of blood. In your arms, Karkat slackens and whimpers.  
“I’m not going to die,” he insists, his eyes fluttering open and shut “I’m just fucking tired.”  
“I know. You deserve a nap, after a fight like that.”  
Should you let him go to sleep? Will he wake up again? Well, so far you don’t see any signs of internal damage. Any one of those cuts could get infected and cause all kinds of nightmares, if they even do infections in this part of the world…one thing’s for sure, though. He’s going to wake up with a monster headache.  
Something suddenly occurs to you “You, with the…the gills…where’s my brother?”  
“Dirk!”  
Dave bursts into the clearing right on cue and makes to throw himself at your knees. He stops, when he notices Karkat in your arms. The blood drains from his face. Dave runs to your side and stares in horror at Karkat.  
Karkat holds out a hand to Dave, who takes it “Thanks for the help.”  
Dave nods mutely, squeezing Karkat’s hand.  
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”  
Dave finds his voice “You’re a dude.”   
Groaning in pain and disgust, Karkat turns his face to your chest “Yes, I’m a dude. Somebody should be paying you to be making these revolutionary observations.”  
Dave gets up on his tip-toes and kisses Karkat on the forehead “Thanks for following them. Also, you’re a pretty dude.  
Karkat sniffs, and tries to pass it off as a cough “Get off me.”

 

The night has grown thick overhead when Eridan and Sol are finally ready to tell their dark secrets.  
The little group is gathered around a modestly-sized campfire. Jade built it from litter on the forest-floor, to gushing praise from the other two. With each moment that passes, she seems to become more aware of herself, more dignified and intelligent. Words come to her as naturally as they come to you now, although she forgets the odd word and sometimes growls for no obvious reason.  
She was the wolf that saved Karkat.  
Karkat isn’t close to dying yet, but his discomfort is heart-breaking to see. Spasms of pain wrack his body. Eridan and Sol start to talk when you have just finished binding up the worst of the wounds, using scraps of shirt and cloth sacrificed by everyone. Since you relocated to a nearby stream, you have also been able to scrub off the blood. Karkat has a decent chance of recovery, but with what has been done to his arms…well, you’re going to hate to see how that translates to his wings.  
He is stretched out underneath your cloak, his head resting in your lap. Dave sits on your other side and clings tightly to your arm. The three kids are huddled in a similar fashion and have been whispering for the past 15 minutes while you patched up Karkat.  
Now, they have apparently come to a consensus.  
Sol speaks first “Do you know what a familiar is?”  
Dave is unwilling to admit that he doesn’t “Sorta. I think it might mean something different where we’re from.”  
You bite down on a smile “You mean the spirits that served witches and stuff?”  
Jade pokes a stick into the embers of the fire and grinds the tip into the dirt when it comes back flaming “Uh-huh…so, you don’t really know that much about familiars, huh?”  
“They’re a hard connection to make,” continues Sol “Because it’s hard to match-up personalities. I mean, like you said, Dirk, they’re spirts attached to witches….and they’re always animals.”  
Dave furrows his brow “You’re not animals.”  
Eridan gestures to Karkat “W-we’re like him. W-we’v-ve been cursed with an animal side. See, w-what Sol’s tryin’ ta say is that since familiars are so hard ta make, ‘cos it’s hard ta find a spirit that’s powerful enough to use and also is ok w-with lettin’ ya use it…this is goin’ right over yer heads, ain’t it?”  
Dave shakes his head. You nod. Karkat flinches in his sleep.  
“Long story short, we’re not going back.” says Jade simply “I don’t wanna be sold.”  
Sold.  
That hits you hard.  
Sold? You were so hoping this place was a little bit different. The woman- Ms Rosa was in no way comforting, but you thought she might be doing something good for the children. She had them in a class-room, after all.  
Jade seems to read your mind “She filled up the days with stuff we were used to. School, all day.”  
“She gave us this stuff in our food each night, stuff to kill us on the inside. That way we wouldn’t struggle once we were ready to be sold. We’d be powerful and devoted and we wouldn’t remember ever being kids, you know? Just kids, without the spirits attached to us.” Sol stares into the crackling flames, then wipes his eyes on the back of his hand “But we got out. We’re not going back.”  
“Damn straight,” Eridan takes his hand and smiles at him the way you used to smile at Jake “W-we can run now-w. W-we can hide somew-where she’s nev-ver gonna find us.”  
Jade’s face clouds in thought “We can’t go to the inn. That was where Rose tried to go, but they caught her just before she got there.”  
“Why only kids?” asks Dave.  
“Sorry?”  
“Why only kids? How come she didn’t take big kids too?”  
Sol’s face darkens “Kids are easier to control. Big guys like Dirk and Karkat can fight back way better. Ms Rosa’s usually the only one at the school, so she couldn’t handle a riot.”  
A shiver climbs your spine.  
You don’t even want to think about what would have happened to the three of you, had you not been drawn away by the corpses. You almost owe them thanks, don’t you?  
Then Karkat groans again in his fitful sleep and all thoughts of thanking those bastards is chased away.  
“What’s this inn place that you’re talking about?”  
The three kids tense up and exchange furtive glances.  
Eridan clears his throat “It’s not safe for us. Too many people go through it.”  
“I’m not going to make you go there, I just need to get Karkat to people who know how to really take care of him. He might be broken up in ways I just can’t see, just by looking at the outside of him. Do you understand what I mean?”  
“’course, we’re not stupid.” says Jade abruptly, making the others laugh.  
“Then I should take him to the inn?” you press.  
She shrugs “Sure. It’s safe. They’ll put you up for the night, no problem. You just gotta be careful. My grandpa used to say you meet every kind of villain and hero at that inn.”  
His eyes shining, Eridan chips in “And break bread with all of them.”  
Sol offers him his shoulder earnestly, and Eridan cuddles up to him.  
“Before w-we run…can w-we bury my brother? Please?” he looks down at his hands as if they are still coated in the dirt-like gore “Not if it’s gonna get us caught, but…I can’t just leave him out there ta rot.”  
“Sure, Eri. We’ll bury him.”  
“If you have the time, can you bury the other one? Kankri. He’s Karkat’s big brother.”  
Eridan’s brow scrunches up “Kankri…Kankri Vantas, the son of the Smith-witch?”  
“Uh, apparently.”  
“He and my brother were gonna get married, I think.”  
That’s somehow way more surprising to hear than Jade saying she doesn’t want to be sold. With the mid 1800s, Bio-shock Infinite vibe this place has got, you figured the stance on same-sex relationships would also be mirrored. At least you can talk about having a boyfriend now.  
“We can bury them in the same grave,” offers Jade “It’s almost as good…right?”  
“Sure. Can one of you point me towards the inn?”  
The kids shuffle and mutter amongst each other for a moment, while Dave tugs on your sleeve. He’s got his puppy-eyes out in full force.  
“Do we have to leave them?”  
“They can take care of themselves,” you say firmly “And Karkat needs help.”  
Dave accepts this with a sullen resignation and doesn’t look at you anymore. Instead, he stares at Karkat.

They take you back to the main path before they give the directions. You have the feeling it is the very same road that the Woods-woman caught the two of you on earlier, which makes you a little nervous, to think that she could find you here.  
Karkat is settled on your back, bleeding gently into his messy bandages. Dave is at your side, with the frog (newly christened Benjamin Franklin) tucked into his shirt.  
Sol points along the road “Keep going until you see the oldest tree, where the path forks. Then take the right. There shouldn’t be a demon on the crossroads this time of the year, though.”  
“How do we know which one is the oldest tree?” asks Dave before you can.  
Eridan rolls his eyes “It’s the biggest one. Duh.”  
“Thank you for helping us.” says Jade.  
For a moment, you think she’s going to hug him. They all look like they want to. The three kids are kind of bewildered. Dave was obviously a god-send to them, who gave them that little push to escape that they never would have managed under their own steam. How do you thank someone for saving you from slavery, or whatever horrible things awaited those children?  
You kinda don’t. You just take the chance they gave you and run with it.  
“Take care of each other.” you say, turning your back on the kids.  
“You guys too!” calls Eridan after you “It’s nice that yer not dead!”  
Dave looks back at them for a long time. He watches them crunch off the path, back into the woods, then knots his fingers in your cloak and falls silent.  
Up ahead, the road stretches into an autumn-orange oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a side-note here, about Bro. As it should have been made obvious by Dirk's vague comparisons to his home (hopefully, it's obvious, or I'm not doing it right), he and Dave are living with child abuse.  
> It was that one update that sealed this for me. I was toying with another plot point about their home, but I saw what Dave had to say about his home in a recent update and I wanted to explore that idea. Now that's not to say I don't love Bro. For a long time, I've subscribed to the interpretation of him as a fiercely loyal and loving, if eccentric, guardian who treasures his boys. But that Bro just doesn't exist in this world. It wouldn't suit the story.  
> Sorry for those of you who have been offended by this version of Bro. It kind of offends me too, honestly. Like, 'what am I even doing Bro should so follow the boys in and beat down the Woods-Woman like a bad-ass, shit what am I doing with my life'.


	13. A long road to recovery- or basically, anywhere, in this place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always amazes me how little writing there is on the actual page, once a chapter is uploaded. It takes me a few hours to write the average 5 or 6 pages, then if I'm ever re-reading the chapter I swear I can get through it in about seven minutes. I always think the work is going to amount to a much longer chapter than it ever does.

The first thing you do is bury what Karkat calls Grist.  
You leave him and Dave by the side of the road, telling Dave to sing for you so you know he’s alright. He chooses that one haunting song Billy Boyd sings when that one old steward dude’s soldiers are running charging into certain death. Karkat would probably complain about Dave’s light, slightly shrill little-boy voice interrupting his nap, if he weren’t so deep into the nap. You laid his head gently in Dave’s lap and left them both there, prone and undefended except for the frog so you can do away with the evidence of your ignorance.  
Obviously, no one from the Unknown would carry Grist.  
Grist is so dangerous. Grist has killed so many people. Grist is as bad- even worse than the A-bomb and should be treated as such. These are all things you know, as a local, and a local determined to preserve the relative peace the area experiences.  
You dig a deep, deep hole.  
The hole is at the base of a gnarled tree. In the weak moonlight, the shadows that climb the tree’s trunks give the impression of a snarling, perhaps weeping face with burl eyes trained on you. These eyes burn into your back as you scrape into the dirt with a rock, roughly in the shape of a scoop. The work is not slow, but it is arduous after the day you have had.  
Woods-women. Corn-folk. Enslaved animal children saving you from corn-folk. More walking than you ever thought the human body could withstand.  
Shouldn’t you have more blister surface area than sole on your feet by now? Dave is tough and doesn’t complain unless pushed, but he has been pushed and pushed and terrified today. Yet not once has he complained of the pain his feet should be in. How come you’re not in pain?  
Sure, you’re famished, but hunger is something you kind of expect. Your father isn’t liberal with what he lets you eat. A strict and restrictive diet has taught you to keep going, even without that much food in your system, which is why you don’t really notice the hunger as much as you should. But Dave hasn’t really got that much of a tolerance for pain yet. Your father still goes easy on him, at this stage. Dave should have complained by now.  
When the hole is big enough to accommodate your fist and half of your wrist, you toss the Grist in. Dave is on his fourth song and has begun to yawn widely between the bars. Every now and then, Thomas Jefferson joins in with a suspiciously well-timed croak. Even the frog sounds weary.  
Steeling yourself, you grope in one of your deep pockets for the Grist“How you doing Dave?”  
“Fine!”   
“How’s Karkat?”  
“He’s- he’s still bleeding a lot. Is that ok?”  
“Yeah, that’s ok.”  
“Is Karkat ok?”  
“Karkat’s badass, little man. A few paper-cuts ain’t gonna bring him down.”  
Dave laughs and goes back into his song, although he is a little more subdued than before.  
Your fist closes around the pouch. A shiver runs up your spine, like a demon running its tongue along your back. Shuddering, you quickly deposit the Grist into the hole and sweep the cold dirt back over it as quick as you can. The dirt seems to grow heavier as you pat it down, like the packed and frozen stuff it will become when winter really gets its teeth into this place.  
Another thing: you need to get both of them out of the cold. Dave, before it makes him sick. Karkat, before it steals him away.  
As you come back, you see Dave is cradling Karkat’s head. He has stopped singing by now, as he hears you coming. The way he looks at Karkat reminds you of the way he looks at you when you limp back in from another session on the roof.  
“Dave?”  
He looks up at you, his red eyes wide behind his shades “You know when I grow up?”  
Kneeling beside him, you take Karkat’s weight from his lap. He won’t let go of the bird boy’s hand, though. Your chest tightens uncomfortably, and your throat becomes thick. You blink hard and say nothing.  
Dave continues “When I grow up, I’m gonna be a black belt. In everything.”  
You manage a couple of words around the lump “How about being a wrestler? Good money, if you don’t mind a dirty fight.”  
He shakes his head “That’s like being a gadia...uh, a gordiator…”  
“Gladiator?” you suggest.  
“Yeah. If I’m a wrestler, then people will want to fight me. But if I’m a black belt in everything then people will know I’m really dangerous and no one will ever mess with me.”  
“Sounds like a plan to me, little man. What do you want to study first?”  
He allows you to take Karkat and stands with you. Dave reaches into his shirt and pats the frog on the head thoughtfully “I’m gonna try…what’s the one where you throw people over your head?”  
“Judo?” you suggest, hefting Karkat’s limp body onto your back “Bro knows a few of those moves. He can show you when you get home.” the mention of your father leaves your tongue scalded and bitter.  
Dave must feel the same way, because he furrows his brow “I don’t want to learn from Bro. Can you show me?”  
“Hmm, I don’t know, little man. I’m way bigger than you are. I could squish you under one butt-cheek.”  
He gags at this “No you couldn’t! I’m like a ninja, dude! You can’t pin me down!”  
“Wanna bet?” you start backing towards him, conscious of where you’re putting Karkat.  
Dave shrieks anyway at the sight of the approaching butt and darts past you, to safety.   
“Take the love, Dave!” you cackle.  
Dave parrots one of Jake’s favourite lines, and for some reason, it doesn’t make you feel like you’re rotted from the inside out “Strider, you’re a menace to yourself and society!”  
You can only laugh at this.

 

Shortly after the boys have disappeared into the leaf-strewn horizon, the Woods-Woman opens the shutters that concealed the lantern’s glow and steps onto the path. Looking on either side of her, she crosses the road quickly. Her steps are furtive and wary. To any passers-by, she would appear to be some kind of wraith, ferrying the soul of its latest catch back to some dank cave in the depths of the Unknown.  
The Woods-Woman follows Dirk’s steps almost exactly. She places each foot very carefully, to match her footprints to his in a parallel trial. It brings her some small measure of amusement to do this strange, awkward dance over to the tree. The little smile that curled the corner of her mouth withers immediately when she reaches the tree.  
Dirk at least had the good sense to scatter leaves over the freshly-turned dirt and throw away his tool, but the Woods-Woman was watching him the entire time. If she wanted to, she could even find the exact place where the stone landed. After all, he almost struck her when he got rid of it.  
Before she stoops to dig, the Woods-Woman squints at the tree. She thought it looked familiar, and this confirms it for her.  
“This was where we took the Crocker girl,” says a voice over her shoulder “This is that very tree, isn’t it? Where you and I joined forces. Lords, if only it were more dramatic. You know. A circle of dead grass. Somewhere that which lives refuses to tread. But it looks perfectly healthy doesn’t it? It is as I told you, yes? No matter what and how you suffer, it leaves no marks on anyone but the sufferer.”  
The Woods-Woman says nothing. She gets to her knees and drives the butt of her axe into the soft ground, pulling it apart easily. After a moment of toil, she retrieves the pouch of Grist and stows it securely in a deep pocket.  
“I grow tired of these woods. Very tired. Let’s pick up the pace, shall we?”  
The Woods-Woman knows better than to reply to her employer, by now. She returns to the path in the same grim silence with which she crossed it and starts down the path. Again, matching her footsteps against the faint scuffs in the packed dirt which Dirk’s boots have left.

 

Dave is beginning to unnerve you.  
He keeps glancing over his shoulder nervously, and when you ask him what is wrong he can offer no explanation. Each time he does it, the look on his face is more intensely disturbed than it was previously. Of course, it is only natural that he should be a little bit nervous after the episode where you were kidnapped by corpses at all.  
The darkness of the night is split by puddles of moonlight that are scattered along the path. What light bleeds through the canopy is strong enough to judge where you are going. Also, should you need to, to see who else is on the path with you. So far, you are the only people on the path.  
It’s disconcerting to you that Sollux encouraged you to stay off the path when others passed by. What harm could the people of the Unknown mean you? Do they all come to the table with sinister intentions, like enslaving children to make them into animal slaves or to steal bodies?  
From what you’ve seen so far, the only people you can trust are the people who sneak and plot. Kurloz and the kids were all going against what the rest of their people were doing. Karkat seems like a subversive, sneaking weirdo too. Is it that you’re just running head-first into terrible situations, or is the rest of the Unknown genuinely like this? Terrifying and breath-takingly violent.   
You would give almost anything to feel safe, just for a moment. But at all times it feels as if your back is turned on a roaring hearth, the heat of which presses into you, threatening to knock you forward. No matter where you go in the room you cannot escape the heat. It is always there, relentless and cloying.  
And it doesn’t help that Karkat is bleeding out in your arms.  
You remember one time that your father went too far. Or rather, you did. You just kept getting up. You should have stopped and stayed down, as he ordered. Something had snapped over the course of that ‘sparring session’, and it wasn’t just a bone. You wanted to hurt him. Really, truly, you wanted to have the satisfaction of being the one who stood over him with the blood on your knuckles. It’s a good thing that he stopped you, otherwise you might have made yourself an orphan.  
Karkat reminds you of yourself after that beating. The colour of raw meat where he has been caught. Breathing like he has to work around a bundle of needles lodged in his chest and throat. So bruised he looks like the skin of an old banana. Raw meat and old bananas. Not a glowing report.  
It’s a good thing you have Dave to talk to, otherwise you would be abandoned to the mercy of your own thoughts.  
“So you and Jake aren’t together anymore?”  
If only Dave wanted to talk about something lighter.  
“No. No, we’re not.”  
“When?”  
“Well, since yesterday.”  
It feels inaccurate to refer to the events of the morning you and Jake split as such a recent event. The time that has passed is more like days or weeks. The Dirk that Jake was so frustrated with, and for a good reason, is an entirely different person to the Dirk carrying a half-dead bird-boy through an autumn woods.   
Dave frowns. He doesn’t understand a thing “But you guys love each other, right?”  
Except for that.  
“Yes.”  
“Then how come you broke up?”  
“Things weren’t working out.”  
“But…you guys made each other happy, right? Jake was really nice.”  
You wish there was some kind of pop-up book you could use to explain this to him “It got to the point that we made each other unhappy more than we made each other happy.”  
“How come?” he presses “Was Jake mean to you?”  
“Dave, it’s not as easy as being mean or being nice. When you’re with somebody, you’ve got a half, understand? Say that the people being together, uh, it creates a car.”  
His eyes are wide in confusion “What?”  
“Let’s say the relationship is like a car. Ok, so I have half of the car that I take care of and Jake has the other half that he takes care of. If one of us gets lazy, then stuff starts to break down. You can’t change gears in time so it gets hard to go up slopes. The transmission messes up. The engine stalls. The windows won’t de-fog when it gets steamed up inside. You get what I mean?”  
“Uh.” says Dave.  
The frog croaks, as if to echo this sentiment.  
“What I’m saying is that I tried fixing some stuff in our car that wasn’t busted. So when I tried that, I just made it hella worse. Jake noticed me making it worse and he didn’t know how to tell me to stop.”  
“So it’s both your faults?” asks Dave “If you guys both know you screwed up, why don’t you just talk about it?”  
You wince “Don’t say ‘screw up’, say ‘mess up’.”  
He rolls his eyes “Fine. But can’t you just talk to Jake?”  
“No. It’s not that simple.”  
“How come it’s not that simple?”  
“Because, Dave, people are complicated. It’s really not like fixing a car. When you break stuff, sometimes it just stays broken. Sometimes you’re fixing the wrong thing when something else needs to be patched up more. See, I thought Jake had to work a certain way. And Jake thought I had to be fixed, but I didn’t.”  
This is so out of Dave’s comfort zone, but bless him, is he trying to talk about it like a big boy “What’s broken in you? You’re ok. You’re like, perfect.”  
You laugh so hard at this that Karkat stirs from his fever-sleep. Hurt, Dave plunges his hands into his shirt to retrieve the frog. He holds the frog up and mutters to it so he doesn’t have to talk to you.  
“Shit, sorry little man. I just love your reasoning.”  
“You are,” he insists “You’re cool.”  
“I’m glad you think so.”  
“Are you and Jake going to get back together? Like, ever? And if Jake’s not your boyfriend anymore how come he was walking home with us yesterday?”  
Suddenly, his head snaps around. This time, you look back with him. There is no noise to alert you, but you feel that there is definitely something behind you.  
The path is empty.  
You get on your knees with some effort, putting yourself at Dave’s eye-level “Dave, if you’re seeing something you need to tell me right now.”  
He bites his bottom lip “You’ll think I’m crazy.”  
“Dave, I already know you’re crazy. Just tell me what’s wrong.”  
He cracks a small smile “I think there’s a lady following us.”  
“The Woods-Woman?”  
“Uh-uh. This is a small lady…I think she’s a lady? I don’t know. She’s got a knife.”  
Your heart freezes and plunges so far it essentially falls out of your ass “Oh yeah?”  
You straighten up and order Dave to hold a corner of your cloak. The pace you set is quick and stiff in that way people become when they intend to look casual.  
Lowering your voice to a whisper, you ask “How long ago did you see the lady?”  
Dave picks up the cue to be quiet, to the point that he covers the frog’s mouth helpfully “I saw her two times. She’s friendly, though. I think she might live in a tree or something.”  
Smiling from a tree. Armed with a knife.  
Yep. It’s official. The Unknown is the territory of psychopaths and serial killers.  
The community’s favourite band is the Killers. Their home-team is probably called the Bloodthirsty Hillbillies and they play their home-games in a coliseum. If they ever met your father, they’d probably make him the mayor.  
“Hey Dave, just in case she’s not friendly…I’m gonna wake up Karkat. If something goes bad I want you and Karkat to run as fast as you can and hide somewhere up the path. I’ll take care of it. Then I’ll come and get you guys.”  
Dave nods silently.  
Waking up Karkat proves to be a nightmare. First, you ask him to wake up nicely. Secondly, you jostle him as gently and softly as is possible, hoping it will jolt him out of sleep anyway. While you’re trying this, that burning feeling of eyes all around concentrates into a single beam, like the Death Star zeroing in on Leia’s adopted planet.  
That’s it. You’re done. You plug Karkat’s nose. After a few seconds, he begins to flail.  
Dave chips in with a “Karkat, you’re drowning!” which works a treat.  
Karkat’s eyes fly open, full of murder “What the fucking fuck is it?”  
“Smiling lady in a tree with a knife.”  
He blinks “What? Do you have a concussion or something?”  
You put your face in his and repeat slowly “Smiley. Lady. Tree. Knife.”  
Karkat points to himself “Karkat. Good job, Dork.”  
Fortunately, Dave decides to translate “Dirk thinks this lady following us wants to kill us.”  
“Oh.”  
You carefully lower Karkat to his feet, holding him about the waist. Although he is plainly dead (or half-dead) on his feet, he bats your hands away.   
“Stop fussing,” he says waspishly “I’m fine. C’mere, Dave.”  
Obediently, Dave takes Karkat’s hand and reaches out for you. Shaking your head, you draw back.  
“I’ve got to see what this is. Remember Dave, Code Usain.”  
His face crumples, but he nods “Code Usain.”  
“Your jargon is bewildering and stupid, just like you.” announces Karkat, folding an arm across Dave’s chest to keep him close, then his eyes go wide with fear “Dork, turn around!”  
Spinning, you see you are no longer alone.  
Another corpse, not a smiling knife lady. You’re actually relieved to see the corpse. Kind of like seeing an old friend in the grocery store, but the kind of old friend you never liked that much so you end up ducking behind a display or pretending to text.  
This one appears to be a young man, with a lot of matted hair tumbling down his shoulders and obscuring his face. You are totally fine with not seeing his face.  
“Oh fuck me!” barks Karkat “That’s a Zahhak! Dork, whatever you do, don’t let that fucking thing hit you! It’s stronger than fifty bears!”  
Fifty bears, you mouth in disbelief.  
Ok. Fifty bears. Fine by you. Now, how are you going to kill this thing?  
You saw what they did to Karkat, and what’s more, you saw how they did it. The corn-person-folk-thing-corpse is just going to keep coming until you take out its head, like a classic zombie. You doubt there will be a wonderfully timed werewolf to save you this time.  
The corpse starts towards you.  
Something occurs to you “Hey! Smiley knife lady, if you’re friendly, now would be a really great time to prove it! Earn my trust and shit!”  
You hear Karkat moan and drop his head into Dave’s shoulder.  
“Hey!” protests Dave “Don’t cover my eyes!”  
“Dork, I’ll raise him well. Who knows, maybe he’ll grow some wings after a few years!”  
“Well, since you asked so nicely.”  
You freeze, your eyes flicking to the side of the path. A woman slides languidly down the trunk of a tree, roughly parallel to the corpse. She brandishes a knife about the size of your forearm, which she appears to have been using to pick her teeth.  
The woman reaches behind her and draws bow over half her size from her back- a weapon you have only ever seen the like of in a fantasy movie, or some kind of medieval military exhibit. She nocks a long arrow and nails the corpse in the head. A spray of the muddy blood erupts from the side of his head, but he only stumbles slightly. He keeps coming.  
The woman grunts in frustration and nocks a second arrow which runs through his temple. This time, the corpse falls like a puppet whose strings have been cut.  
“Ey!” the woman punches the air “That’s twelve corpses down.”  
“It’s a Zahhak.” rasps Karkat.  
Her smile falters “Shit! I knew these things were coming outta Pottsfield! Well, fuck me, that’s terrible. At least we know what happened to Rus now.”  
She approaches the corpse with a new air of remorse and respect. Then she yanks the arrows out of the corpse’s head and wipes the shaft on a scrap of cloth produced from her pocket.  
“Hey you, with the weird glasses. Be a dear and help me drag this poor bastard to the Inn, please.”


	14. Come Inn, or rather, come to the Inn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapter names are just getting more ludicrous

Her name is Nepeta Leijon.  
Your new friend has to be in the earliest possible of her twenties and carries herself with the kind of feline grace you can only dream about. Her skin is olive, but you think she’s white, like you are. She’s got a lot of dark, curly hair that has more sideways mass than it does length, which is tucked under a weird kind of cap like a beret without the style that tilts at a precarious angle on her curls and threatens to fall off every time she shakes her head. She is dressed in the clothes to suit the bow’s fantasy vibe, with rough pants you want to call breeches, boots stained from her travel and a green cloak over a shirt with an actual fucking cravat. The cloak is nowhere near as pretty as yours, thanks very much.  
You are definitely the prettiest girl at the ball.  
And a little light-headed, from a combination of hunger that is only just now creeping up on you and an exhaustion that forms like a weight behind your eyes. You’re trying not to let on or complain. It’s bad enough that the other thirds of your party are either under ten or beaten to shit (the frog doesn’t count), and you don’t want Nepeta to think she can overwhelm you easily. She can, of course, but you’re doing your best to make it seem like the least attractive option.  
Funnily enough, though she carries a corpse slung over her shoulder (as it turns out, she is perfectly capable of carrying the weight by herself), she has no murderous intent towards you or your brother. For a while you feared the bleeding mess that is Karkat would be far too tempting for her to resist. Either she doesn’t like white hair, or she really doesn’t kill you.  
Good thing all three of you are either actually white-haired or white-blond.  
Dave has retreated to your side again. You suspect he would demand to be carried if your arms weren’t full of Karkat again- he rides on your back, his breathing ragged and wet. Nepeta looked him over and asked him how many bears stomped on him before he started to fight back. She thinks he has a fair chance of making it to the Inn.  
Worst case scenario, she says, she’ll leave the corpse with you and run him to the Inn herself, then come by later to pick you and Dave back up.  
You asked her if she was going to boil or braise Karkat and she laughed, but did not offer to help anymore.  
The conversation so far has been similarly strained. When you first put him on your back, Karkat put his lips to your ear and whispered: “these people don’t like trouble. If you tell them about the Woods-Woman on our trail, there’s a good chance they’ll take our stuff and dump us naked by the side of the road.”  
“And you want me to put your life in their hands?” you protested in a hoarse whisper.  
“Better than your clammy hands.”  
And that solved the matter.  
“You better be planning your story for when we get to the Inn,” she is saying “I don’t know how people pay their way where you come from, but this is our favoured currency. Stories.”  
You’re tempted to ask how that works for the stock market. For some reason, your sense of humour has climbed out of the shelter where you generally store non-essential emotions in times of great distress. It’s now a challenge of immense proportions to keep the sass from leaping out of your mouth.  
You manage to dumb it down into a simple question “Is that true all the time?”  
She shakes her head, causing the corpse to twitch “Nah. We’ve got pennies and bartering systems and all that jazz, but the oldest establishments still prefer good old story-time.”  
“That’s fine by me.”  
“I noticed you’re not carrying much in the way of provisions.”  
Dave’s stomach grumbles, as if on cue. Amused and surprised, Nepeta glances over her shoulder to stare at him, causing him to clutch his stomach in embarrassment.  
She flashes him a toothy grin “Don’t hold back on account of me. So, if you don’t mind me asking, what kind of spirits are you? Wraiths, or something? You’ve sure got the complexion.”  
Before you can out yourself as an outsider by floundering, Karkat feeds you an answer in a whisper, once again saving your ass.  
“We’re just Voidhoppers.” the alien term comes out naturally, as if you have been using it to describe yourself your entire life “Fresh from Silent Hill.”  
“Oh yeah? There’s another Voidhopper at the Inn. Don’t worry about getting something to eat, by the way. There’s plenty of sustenance knocking around the pantry. I mean, only like, two of us out of the entire staff need to eat regularly, so I’m all for using some of the space as an armoury. But you know, you gotta protect the rights of the minority, otherwise they start to get ignored and disgruntled and from there the work-place is just hell.”  
She continues in this fashion, talking about how many times there have been Voidhoppers laying their heads in the beds the Inn supplies and how she thinks sleep is the weirdest thing ever. Honestly, she says, how does lying in the same position with your eyes shut for eight hours improve your mood?  
Dave tugs on the side of your cloak “What’s a Voidhopper?”  
You shake your head “Ask Karkat.”  
“Shut up,” hisses Karkat in a fury “I’ll tell you later. Folks here are just a little bit beyond having to stuff their drool-holes with baked concoctions and bush-pluckings!”  
Dave’s too curious to leave it alone “Don’t you eat, Karkat?”  
He looks offended “No, I do not!”  
“…so I told him it was his own damn doing that his horse got eaten in the first place. I said, there are things in this wood that need to eat with an alarming frequency, Mr Man, and I’m not going to be held responsible for your horse getting eaten because you didn’t take the right precautions…”  
Ok, how do you process this?  
People here don’t need to eat?  
Just a little while ago, Dave was relating the experience of sneaking into the school of trapped children to retrieve Jade. You have your doubts about the part where he head-butted a guard-dragon into submission, but he described hiding from Ms Rosa in a kitchen where there was plenty of meat hanging out to dry. He even fished out the bread and the capsicum to share a while back, which, now that you think about it, Karkat refused.  
Is it that only certain types of people need to eat, such as animals and those cursed with animal halves? If that’s true, then why did Karkat turn his nose up at the chance to eat? What kind of place are you in, where there can be a society that functions on stories and is run by an apparent majority that think of eating as a kind of funny game. Sleeping, eating, probably blinking, is no more than a cute fad to the people you’re heading towards, from what you’re hearing.  
How on earth can you pretend to be one of their kind or at least a member of another society they would recognise. The names Karkat has fed to you are all strange and stupid: The Dead-lands, Guerterna’s gallery, Silent Hill and Erebos. Names you have never heard before. They sound like video-game franchises, or something.  
You think you might know where you and Dave are.  
If this is true, then you’re the worst big brother there ever was. But you don’t know if it’s true because you just can’t, fucking, remember a thing. Your day stops at waking up in the morning, at preparing yourself to see Jake and have that long over-due talk. Your day resumes at waking up in the Unknown with a frog on your face and Dave curled into your side, snoozing.  
It can’t be true. You wouldn’t do that to Dave.  
“Hey, can I ask you something?”   
You look at Dave, but he’s talking to Nepeta. He is also employing that cute, puppy-eyed look of concern he knows disarms any adult completely, and a tone of voice that suggests he wants to be carried badly. God, he’s getting good at this. Faster than you ever got good at things.  
Nepeta gives him another smile, her heart utterly melted “Sure. What’s on your mind?”  
“Do I have to tell a story too?”  
She frowns at this “Hmm…that’s up to your brother. You’re in charge of him while you’re out here, right?”  
A prickle of fear runs up your spine “Right.”  
“So that’s for your brother to decide. Couldn’t hurt to tell another one. And of course, your friend there will have to tell one, once he can talk.”  
Karkat stiffens almost imperceptibly at this, but he says nothing. As far as Nepeta knows he is unconscious.  
You’ll worry about that later.

The lights of the Inn appear through the trees after a short time walking. Your sense of time is totally shot. It is slightly darker than it was when you set out, but like the strangely long days seem to be matched in the Unknown by long nights as well.  
Nepeta relaxes marginally at the sight of the gold, buttery lights shining through the dark. She hefts the corpse and leads you at a brisk pace into a clearing- finally, a break in the goddamned interminable woods. By now, you are sure Karkat on death’s door. His silence at the mention of him having to tell a story proved to be him falling unconscious, due to blood loss or some other insidious problem you can’t divine from the surface. It doesn’t help that Dave’s about to pass out from sleepiness, and your eye-lids feel weighted with fatigue.  
The Inn looks like a haunted house, if you’re frank.  
Like one of those old Edwardian Inns that wouldn’t look out of place in Britain. The signs that hangs over the door has no picture and reads simply ‘The Inn’. It is illuminated by a thoughtfully placed brazier. The entire Inn is covered in them, around the door-frame and some attached stables, two stalls of which house a dozing horse. So yeah, apparently animals sleep, and going by the faint perfume wafting over on the cool breeze, they eat too, to do the thing you need to have food in your system to do in the first place.  
A light shines in every window. Figures pass like shadow-puppets in the lowest window, which seems to belong to a living room or a lobby. The shadow of fire-light dances on the clouded glass. Somewhere, a back door is open and the low ebb of conversation spills out into the night. Encouraged by the signs of life, Nepeta strides across the clearing. Her boots click on what must be a paved path that is lost in the gloom. Paved paths…towns? Cities? A way out of here, maybe. You watch as she arranges the corpse in a neat repose beside the stables, then heads for the door.  
Looks peaceful. So did the school.  
Dave looks up at you, holding the frog like a teddy bear “Is Karkat ok?”  
“I’m fine. Worry about your own stupid ass.” snaps Karkat.  
Nepeta raps on the door. It flies open an instant later, to a raucous cry of delight of many voices. Golden light is thrown across the lawn and blinds you for an instant. A woman tumbles out of the door into Nepeta’s waiting arms, squealing with apparent joy.  
“It’s been too long!” her voice is loud and brash, like someone who is used to having the centre of attention when they speak “Two weeks, it’s an eternity! Get in her! Somebody get Equius and tell him his kitten’s back!”  
She begins to tug Nepeta towards the inn, but stops when she notices you. She takes one long look at you, the bleeding boy on your back and the child rocking nervously on his heels that is at your side. Her face changes from suspicious to kind and sympathetic when Nepeta whispers in her ear.   
The woman turns and calls back into the inn “Hey, Terezi! Wake up the good doctor, will you? We have a patient out here that needs some help!”  
Karkat lets out a wheezy cackle of triumph that tickles your ear “Oh fuck. Wait. I have to tell a fucking story, don’t I?” his voice grows grim again “Don’t lie to them. They’ll know if you lie.”  
“Cut the cryptic shit, Karkat. What will they do with me if I lie?”  
“I don’t know, do I? I’m not stupid enough to lie at the Inn!”  
“I’ll make sure he doesn’t lie,” assures Dave as the woman approaches “And I’ll make sure they feed him too.”  
“Excuse you, I’m the elder here.”  
Before you can finish scolding Dave, the woman is in front of you.  
She is dressed in one of those old-fashioned dresses that cover every inch of the woman with a high-collar and long-sleeves, but has a corset-like device about her waist that seems a conflicting element. Or, if you’re frank, kind of a sexy element.  
Once you see her hair is the same kind of off-white blond that yours and Dave is, you can’t help but relax just a little. Strange, because the Woods-Woman never made you feel at ease even though her hair was almost white and her eyes were red as sin, just like Dave’s and yours. Something about the woman makes you feel safe.  
So maybe, if you’re lucky, she is safe.  
“So I hear you boys are lost?”   
Dave nods mutely.  
She looks down at him and her heart seems to melt “Well, come inside. There’s a strong fire in the hearth and pleasant company, if you’re willing to be pleasant company too.”  
“Lady, I will gladly muck out your stables if it means you’ll patch my friend up.”  
For some reason she finds this utterly charming and beckons you in with a radiant grin.  
Every pair of eyes in the Inn is turned on you the moment you walk in.  
Scattered across tables laid out for a much bigger crowd are easily the oddest collection of men and women you have ever seen. The day has been too long and punishing to really focus on what you are seeing, but you register the same sort of strange, old-fashioned clothes, and a variety of skin colours. Good for them. Diversity, yay, even though they look to be dressed from the era that followed directly after slavery.  
That’s fine, though, because this is obviously not any world you would be familiar with.  
There is a kid about your age behind a counter, like a bar, dragging a dish-cloth over a wet plate. There is a man who has to be pushing seven feet tall sitting cross-legged in front of the fire like a child. There is a young guy a little older than you coming out of the door behind the bar. He touches the kid on the shoulder briefly before hopping the bar neatly, landing on his feet, and approaching you.  
“How long has your companion been in this condition?”  
“Since before night-fall.”  
“What did this to him?”  
“Pottsfield.”  
A ripple of gasps passes through the scattered crowd. People lean towards each other to whisper and shake their heads, as if you have just given them the scandal of the century. That’s probably what you just did.  
“May I see him?”  
You hand Karkat over without hesitation.  
He accepts Karkat like he’s carrying a piece of furniture and stretches his limp form out on one of the long tables.  
“I’m still conscious, asshole.” gurgles Karkat.  
The guy pauses “What would you like me to do about that?”  
“Oh, please, just knock me the fuck out.”  
He’s going to be fine, you think.


	15. Sleeping is just the cutest thing ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter before the shit hits the fan.  
> Let's take a closer look at the Striders' home life and then take a step back and wonder why we like to punish ourselves emotionally like this. C'mon people, best foot forward.

Your name is Dirk Strider.  
There’s something in your closet. You are sure of it this time. In the nine years you’ve been here, and in the last four where you’ve been dealing with these kinds of late-night visitations and visions, you have never been more sure of anything. Except, maybe, that your brother is the cutest brother ever.  
But yeah, no, there is totally a monster in there.  
The door’s hinges squeak in protest as they are bumped and jostled by something within. It will have teeth like the kitchen knives. And hands as big as paddles. And eyes as big as lanterns. And it will come over to the side of your bed and grab you by the neck, like your bro does sometimes, and it will throw you across the room. That won’t be so bad, because you’ve been thrown across rooms before and all you have to do is go limp and let yourself bounce to avoid getting hurt bad.  
But then, the monster will pick you up, all limp now, and put you back in bed and put the pillow over your face and press down until you stop breathing.  
And you won’t make a sound.  
So, your line of thinking is, it’s better to risk your bro’s wrath by getting into bed with him than it is to die like that.  
You creep out of your room, your hands knotted in your shirt like they were knotted in the bedsheets when you heard the first noise. Your Bro’s room is just in front of you, with a little bit of light spilling underneath the door. But Dave’s door is open. It wouldn’t be good if he got hurt instead of you, would it?  
Down the hall is the muted noise of bro’s computer. By this hour, he will be working on one of his programmes or the blueprints for another piece of tech. So, headphones. So, he won’t hear you go into Dave’s room, will he?  
Dave isn’t asleep. He stands up when he sees you come in and starts to burble happily. He’s got these big, red eyes to go with lots of fluffy white hair. He looks weird, but in a good way. In the Strider way. Dave is already a better Strider than you are he only got here a little while ago. You should be mad at him or something, right? Or just sad that he has a natural talent?  
You should, but you can’t bring yourself to do anything but smile when you see him.  
“Hey, Dave.” you whisper “What’s the good word?”  
“Dwirk.” he tries.  
His first word. His first attempt at a word, anyway. You knew it was going to be your name from the start, but your bro seemed a little surprised. A little hurt, even.  
He holds his arms out to you. Obediently, you pick him up and cradle him carefully the way your bro showed you how. Your bro stays out late sometimes. When that happens, you’re in charge of feeding Dave and keeping him washed and clean. It’s a whole lot to do, but you’re good at it. You made a special point of watching and helping your bro the moment he brought Dave home from the hospital (without your mom, but whatever), because you know what your bro is like. He gets all interested in one thing and for a long time, it’s all about that one thing. Then he gets bored, it dries up for him, and he moves onto the next thing.  
“Dave, don’t spit on me.”  
Dave blows a spit-bubble the size of his head. Pulling a face, you sneak him into the bathroom and mop him up.  
“That’s really gross Dave.”  
He busts out laughing, too loud.  
Your bro’s door creaks open. He steps out, looking towards Dave’s open door.  
“Somebody’s up past their bed-time.” he addresses Dave’s empty room.  
You take a deep breath “Two of us. We’re over here.”  
Stepping out of the bathroom, you put Dave on his feet and hold his hands so he can try his hand at standing up. Your bro watches the two of you for a moment. His face is blank.  
You hate it when he does that, because you know you’re in trouble.  
After a while you can no longer stand the silence “There’s a thing in my closet.”  
“There’s a thing in your closet?” repeats your bro, flatly.  
You nod, already feeling useless and stupid “I heard it.”  
“Oh yeah?”  
“Yeah.”  
“You know you’re not supposed to be awake after eight. If you’re going to make up a story, at least make it plausible. Tell me there’s a fucking man in your window or something. Give me Dave.”  
Dave fusses a little when your bro picks him up, but he doesn’t start to cry. Striders don’t cry. Even as babies. That was your first failure, apparently. You cried at all hours of the night and made zombies of your parents for the first year.  
“Bro.” you chirp “Can I…can I sleep in Dave’s room tonight? Just to make sure he’s safe.”  
“No,” he says shortly “Go back to your own room. It’s late.”  
“Please? I don’t even have school tomorrow.”  
“Back to bed, now.”  
You don’t move. For a long moment, you and your bro stare at each other. Neither of you are wearing your shades. Dave goes quiet, his eyes fixed on you.  
Finally, your bro’s shoulders slump. He sighs and the corner of his mouth hitches up into what might be a smile. You have only ever seen him smirk.  
“You can sleep on the couch.”  
“Can I sleep in your room?” you don’t actually want to, but it seems to be the safest option.  
Your bro shakes his head “No. No one sleeps in my room but me, capiche?”  
“Then…then can you watch TV or something until I fall asleep?”  
He ushers you down the stairs with his foot “Maybe.”  
“Can you stay downstairs with me?”  
“Maybe.”  
You retrieve a blanket from the downstairs closet and set yourself up on the couch, making sure your feet are tucked in. While you get settled, your bro watches you silently from the doorway. Dave has his first finger and is busy teething on it. You want to ask him if Dave can sleep down here with you, just in case your bro doesn’t hear the monster if it comes out. But he will never say yes.  
To your surprise, your bro sits in the armchair beside the couch. He puts his big, cool hand on your forehead for just a minute. You close your eyes and pretend that he is smiling at you. That he smiles at you all the time, the way he smiles at Dave, and the way other parents smile at their children.  
Like he’s happy to see you.  
Then he moves his hand and you hear him get up suddenly, his heavy footsteps trailing out of the room. Dave burbles an attempt at goodnight, and they leave you alone in the darkness.

 

Your name is Dirk Strider. The little butterball curled into your side is Dave. You have made his hair a little damp with your tears. Lucky for you, he dozes on peacefully.  
Shit. This isn’t good.  
You wipe your eyes furtively on your sleeve, afraid to jostle Dave too much. As far as he is aware, Striders don’t cry. Can’t cry. It’s against the natural order. You can’t let him see you like this, so you scrub away furiously at your cheeks with your rough sleeve, until the redness in your eyes is a dry, raw colour that looks like it could have come from a rough night of sleep. And boy, is it a rough night that you are waking up from.  
There wasn’t much of a night to speak of, once you had handed Karkat over to the guy that looked like a Middle Eastern Terminator. You allowed yourself and Dave to be shown to one of the seldom-used upper rooms. The woman in the strangely sexy dress, Roxy, led you up with a giggle, saying she thought sleep was just the cutest thing. She mentioned that she had only ever seen ‘their wraith’ sleeping when she opened the door and pointed out a change of clothes for the two of you.  
Apparently they knew you were coming.  
“It was the other wraith,” she lifted her hand far above her head, miming a tall person “The big guy that took the little guy off your hands. He saw the moon turn red before the rest of us did and he guessed right that there would be some trouble coming our way.”  
“The moon turned red?” you repeated with a chill in your stomach.  
She waved her hand dismissively “Oh, it does that every time a warm body comes in, or a wandering dreamer. You know the type.”  
Dave nodded sagely “We know the type.”  
This made her smile, and she left the two of you to get changed. Once you were alone, you did a quick check for hidden bugs and cameras. Growing up in the house that you did, you have learned to spot a spying device at 10 ft. Of course, in keeping with the pre-Industrial Revolution vibe of the rest of the place, there was nothing so technologically advanced here. You decided that it was safe to sleep there. You had no other choice, really.  
Wander the dark highways of a strange land, possibly full of the dead and their corpses? No thanks. You’d like the warm bed, thanks.  
Before you put Dave to bed, you had a quick talk.  
“Dave, you know how Bro tells us that life is a game?”  
“The biggest fucking joke ever.” corrects Dave “That’s what he says.”  
Checking the blankets for traps or bugs (those with feelers and those without), you judged it to be safe and picked him up, tucking him in up to the chin “This is a bigger joke. You get me? We’ve gotta be the most ironic, most mysterious weirdoes ever.”  
His face was troubled, but he smiled “If this is a game, is Karkat on our side?”  
“Karkat’s the team leader. How does that sound?”  
“Captain Karkat? He might like that.”  
“Or he might hate us.”  
The two of you laughed. You were confident that Karkat would be fine. Well, you were forcing yourself to be confident that he would be. The noises from downstairs were of a boisterous party, with the solemn undercurrent of a funeral. A lot of people to protect him from what was outside, and if necessary, each other.  
And that guy. The big, scary guy knew you two were coming. What could they gain by tricking you so thoroughly, before they move onto the real business of torture and terror and making snacks of your digits? That thought alone was enough to send you off to sleep.  
Your dreams were horrifying.  
You dreamed of woods and of roots crawling into your mouth, then to your veins and under your fingernails. Scraping your skin away, and where the skin was pushed off, bark grew scaly in its place. Dave held Karkat’s hand and cried and cried and Karkat was crying too, but he said to you, it’s ok, Dork, you can go to sleep now.  
And then it changed to a man. And a woman. Actually, a boy and a girl. Young and scared in the woods, menaced by the shadows and the noises they made. They had to run. From what, you could not see. You only know that the boy fell and called out to the girl. And damn her, the girl could have escaped. She could have let the screaming shadows take the other (her brother, you know the look of a big sibling that’s about to lose a little one) and gotten away with the time that bought. But damn her, she ran back.  
She ran back and saved a monster.  
And then you woke up.  
And now you are beginning to forget all of these strange dreams.

“I’m hungry.”  
Dave comes to, fluffy-haired and blinking groggily about fifteen minutes after you wake up. In that time, you have discovered that there is a pile of clothes for the both of you on a rough chair in the corner. You took the shutters off the window to squint outside. Framed in the dazzling sunlight, you turn to Dave and spread your arms.  
“How do I look?”  
Dave considers this “Like Legolas.”  
You are dressed in a soft, black shirt that is so comfy and just damned luxurious, you’re 90% sure it was shat out by a worm or something. Your trousers are something you want to strut around in and brag about too. Breeches, is the word on your mind. Nice, roomy breeches that hide your knobbly knees quite nicely.  
And all black too, to match your cloak.  
You strike a pose for Dave “I am the night.”  
“You’re a dork.” he rubs his eyes with the heels of his chubby palms “Where’s Frankenfurter Jones?”  
“Who? Oh, the frog. I don’t know.”  
Dave is out of the room in a flash.  
“Dave!” you protest, ready to dash after him.  
But you catch yourself in the doorframe at the last minute.  
New day. New things. New beginnings. Your second day in this hellhole.  
Your closes around the cold, dented bell in your pocket.  
Yeah, you can totally fucking own today, if you want to.


	16. Drinks at the Inn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to play 'spot the reference!'  
> Can you find them all? Special prize for those who do.
> 
> (and a small note pertaining to names: the name "Graa'ant' is just a bastardisation of the 'Grand' from the title of the Grand Highblood, who will appear in this chapter)

Your name is Dirk Strider and you’re about to tell a very personal story to a group of perfect strangers. This is actually probably the only way you would ever tell this story, anyway. Contrary to the Strider’s way of thinking, you have rationalised that you shouldn’t care what these people think of what you’re about to tell them, or to whom they may repeat it. Stories are currency here, and you’re not about to stiff these people.  
Their names are still mysterious at this point. A few tried to introduce themselves when you came over, after a furtive breakfast in the back part of the kitchen that Roxy insisted you had better do in private, but you said that you would prefer to meet your audience after you were finished telling the story. You were even honest about why you didn’t want to know their names yet. Surprisingly, no one objected. The small group of patrons are now gathered around a few carved wooden tables while you sit at the bar, which Nepeta is behind. Eating may be stupid and silly here, but drinking is still a viable past-time, going by the flagons of ale or something else alcoholic she’s about to pass out.  
Karkat dozes fitfully in front of the hearth, with Dave tucked under an arm and a frog under his chin. You tossed a blanket over them earlier, so you can’t tell if Dave’s awake or not. If he is…whatever, he needs to hear this.  
“When I was younger, I knew there was someone living in my closet. Well, I thought it was a something at that age, but I still knew. It’s that kind of knowledge children just inherently have at that age, you know? How we know who to trust and when we’re being watched and what kinds of things are in the shadows.”  
One of the men nods at this. From the deep bags under his eyes, you’re guessing he has some wise children playing around his own hearth.  
“My father didn’t believe me. My family was always the kind of family that took care of its own business, but not among each other. From an early age I was always told that every problem I was ever gonna make for myself, I’d have to solve on my own. No help. No complaining. If I complained, I was being weak. I was no better than a spoiled little kid if I asked anyone to lift a finger to help me. I mean, now I know that was just an easy excuse for my father to use to neglect me. I’m a little older, not that much wiser (a dry, bitter laugh, full of empathy shivers through the group), so now I know this isn’t the right way for a family to act.  
“But the little-me didn’t know that. So, I mostly just nested on the problem. It went on for years and years, four, five, six- I’ve lost count. I told my father once, only, when I was about five, and I never tried to again after the way he reacted.”  
You catch the concern on their faces, and hear a whisper pass between two women towards the back, of ‘beating’ or something similar.  
“No, he didn’t beat me up. But the way he acted, he might as well have thrown me down the stair-case. So I tried to ignore it. Every night, I was tortured by the idea that I was going to be killed by whatever it was that slept in my closet during the day and woke up at night. Thanks to my father’s opinions on how much I should do for myself, I was a real Cinderella as a kid. I did all my own cleaning and my own laundry. As far as I know, he hadn’t gone near my closet since I was old enough to start the work, and I stopped using it. When I was about five, I took everything out of it and started to keep my clothes in boxes under my bed. So it was just an empty closet. But it thumped and bounced at night, like the shelves were still full and everything inside was falling off of them.  
“It stopped just before I turned eleven years old. My little brother, over there (some of them glance back at Dave) was just getting big enough that I knew my father was about to move him into my room. See, he wanted the little guy’s room for a study. The thumping noises inside the closet were still coming- not every night, not anymore. Not since I was really little. But I just knew it was going to come back and be worse than ever, when the little man joined me.  
“So one night, I made myself ready to attack. During the day, I brought a shovel up from the yard (you have changed the weapon from your father’s aluminium bat, just in case they think you’re describing a fight with a small, furry mammal) and waited for the night to come with it in my hands, under the cover. The first knock came earlier than usual, which was good for me. That meant I wouldn’t have to wake up my father to show him whatever it was I managed to drag out of there. So, I pretend to be concerned. Like I have many nights before, I sit up in bed, grabbing the shovel tight under the covers, and creep towards the closet. My hands are behind my back. The thumps, they get louder all at once. Now it sounds like whatever is in there is trying to kick the doors down, and the doors are bulging outwards like that too. But I’m not scared. How can I be? This is for my little brother, after all. I’m drunk on bravado instead.”  
They laugh again.  
“The doors fly open. I don’t wait to see what’s in there- I don’t want to either, I just bring the shovel out from behind my back and hit the softest thing I can find. Over and over again, and this thing is screaming like a fox at night, and I’m just going to town on its ass. Finally, I stop. My arms hurt too much. The light flicks on, and there’s my father in the doorway with the little man peering past his knees in fear.  
“They find me standing over our next door neighbour. Big man, in his fifties, not the kind of man you would leave the kids alone with. He had lived in the house beside ours for longer than I’ve been around, and apparently, he took advantage of that abundance of time to make a tunnel that ran from his base- uh, cellar, to ours. The police wrung it all out of him. When he started, he just wanted to look at my mother. She still lived with us at the time. I was very young when he started crawling in our walls and at first I didn’t interest him. A more interesting cut of meat was on display. Then she moved out, and took his sport with him. But he’d gone to all that effort to dig the fucking tunnel, right? He wanted his money’s worth.  
“So I became the object of his obsession. I’d knocked him silly and my father had a few things to say to him too, so the police searched to their heart’s content while he was drooling blood in their custody. They found drawings of my mother all over the walls. Then newer ones and me, and a few of the little man. He was working on a new one of myself, asleep in my bed, when I went after him with the shovel. That was more than enough evidence to have him carted off forever. And you know what my father did?”  
“Moved you out?” suggests one of the women.  
“Tracked the man down and finished him off?” suggests the other.  
“I wish! He just told me I did a good job. First time in my life I hear that, and it’s in the place of ‘wow son I’m sorry I didn’t believe you’. God, he was a weird man. A nasty, selfish man too.”  
“Where’s the brother at now?” rumbles the large man, confirming your suspicions that he’s one of those ‘good fathers’ you’ve been told about “Yer father, I mean.”  
Waiting at home. You picture him pacing in the front room, shouting down the phone at the police, wanting to know why his children are still missing. It’s hard to imagine, but it must be happening, right? How else is he going to react to you and Dave disappearing after school?  
Jake’s going to be deep in the shit with him. He walks with you and Dave every day. Not because he lives the same way. In fact, he walks half a mile out of his way on a daily basis just to get a little extra time to talk to you. The two of you decided that today was going to be the last day you walked together, and you would only walk for the sake of keeping up appearances for Dave, and to give you more of a chance to figure out how to tell him you were breaking up.  
The lie just sort of slips out “He left us not too long ago. We’ve been better off without him, actually.”  
The man nods “I’d imagine that’s so. So, little wraith, ready ta trade names yet?”  
Against your better judgement, you smile “I’m Dietrich Strider. The little guy is David. And our friend is Karkat.”  
The crowd perks up at the mention of the last name.  
Another man swivels around in his seat too look at the lump in front of the hearth “Not Karkat Vantas? Good gods, I thought that poor fool was dead.”  
One of the women, the one dressed in red and green who was behind the bar when you first came in, stands up “Where did you find him?”  
You have begun to get nervous “Uh, he found us.”  
Then, in the plain sight of the entire room, Karkat’s body burns with a bright red energy and shrinks rapidly in on itself. Many gasp, swear and utter oaths to gods you’ve never heard of before. You start forward, worried that Dave will be burned. But the light clears quickly, leaving a battered cardinal behind it, curled on top of Dave’s head, who isn’t the slightest bit disturbed by the sudden transformation. His wings are crooked and the leg that is not tucked up underneath him has been stripped of the skin. Your stomach turns a flip.  
They all look back at you, as one. You really wish you weren’t up on the bar.  
“Well that explains some things.” says Nepeta flatly “You kids are foreigners. You have no idea what the Vantases were and what they did, do you?”  
“I’m guessing it was bad?” you venture.  
She snorts “Oh, gods no! They were wonderful people. Crotchety assholes, every last one of them but they were talented, in ways people just aren’t anymore.”  
She scrubs a rag around the rim of a wooden flagon, lost in thought, her face grim.  
The woman in red speaks up again “You didn’t happen to see a guy in a red sweater in the forest, did you? He would have been one of the corpses, like poor Rus outside.”  
“No. I didn’t.”  
It would probably be better to spare them the truth. They seem a little deflated anyway.  
The crowd is composed of seven people. The two, whispering women on the furthest table. One has a head full of beautiful, tousled black hair that reminds you achingly of Jake’s, and an eyepatch over her right eye, and a little snake of scar tissue slipping out from underneath it. The other is boyish in her dimensions and probably closer to your age than anyone else in the room, with a lot of messy red hair and a cloth over her eyes that suggests she is either blind or pretending to be. The worn cane resting at her side makes you think the first is more plausible.  
The next table along is occupied by a truly massive man. He must be pushing at least seven feet tall, but his cloak falls about him in such a way that you can tell he’s very slim underneath. Built like a sapling, you bet. His hair is black too, bound up in a ponytail and strewn over his face. If you had a thing for older men, you would have been in his lap the second you laid eyes on him. Next to him is another older guy. It’s entirely possible you would be all over this one too if you liked old guys, but you can’t tell, since his face is mostly obscured by a heavy grey hood and a huge, billowing cloak coloured like a muddy river (you are still the prettiest girl at the ball). He kind of looks like the Grim Reaper. On the bright side, he can talk, so that makes him a little less threatening.  
On the next table over is an amazingly pretty woman, who was wearing a kind of head-scarf to cover her baldness when you first came in, but she has since slipped that around her neck. Her skin is an icy white- whiter than yours, in fact- but her features are African. She is easily the most beautiful woman you have ever seen. Roxy shares the table with her.  
Finally, there are two little kids. When you first saw them your heart lifted, thinking that Eridan and Sollux had come to the Inn after all. But it was not them. The children look like siblings. One of them is Asian, and you would have said Filipina if they have the same ethnicities that you do down here, and the other is closer to Hawaiian. The way they hold hands across the table is the way you hold Dave’s hand when you’re crossing the street, so you wouldn’t be surprised if they are brother and sister.  
The pretty woman tugs at her headscarf “Well, never mind. Let’s not bore the poor boy, Nepeta. Dietrich, did you say? I’m Ms Paint, dear, the carpenter. And what, may I ask, is your function where you come from? Only, you said ‘police’ when you recounted that terrible story, and if I’m not mistaken that is a term from Silent Hill, yes?”  
Shit. You’re so fucking stupid.  
“Uh, yes.”  
Her blue eyes light up “Ah! You wouldn’t happen to be with the appeasement squad for Alessa, would you?”  
“No. No I’m just…I’m just a…a guy, you know? Just a scavenger.”  
That last part was a random stab in the dark, but Ms Paint seems satisfied “My, what a daring choice. Only, one of my dear friends recently immigrated back to her home. She missed the old place, you know? She said the sirens were better than the songs of any birds you could find in the Unknown, and besides, she was worried about what your local deity might be doing to the place in her absence. You wouldn’t happen to know of the Mail-woman, would you?”  
Your mind immediately jumps back to the chubby, sour-faced old Romanian woman that pushes bills and junk mail through your letter slot on a daily basis. Somehow, you get the feeling she isn’t talking about the same person.  
You think quickly, wanting desperately to spare Ms Paint’s feelings and yourself from being outed as a liar “Nope. Sorry. Is she new in town?”  
“Well, she only just started back last year.”  
“I was kinda busy a lot of the time. I probably just missed hearing about her? A lot of people are coming back these days, so it’s not a big deal anymore. She’s probably a pillar of the community by now and I just haven’t noticed. I’ve never been good with names and faces.”  
Ms Paint smiles “That’s a shame. Pardon my imposition…still, it’s better than hearing she’s been eaten by the beast of the pyramids.”  
Roxy swats her arm lightly “Oh! Don’t invoke his name in here, Painty! You’ll bring him down on us.”  
“No, not the one-eyed demon. I was referring to Pyramid Head. And anyway, the one-eyed demon is a floating triangle, hardly a pyramid.”  
“He’s triangular and 3-dimensional. That’s a pyramid.”  
“I beg your pardon, but pyramids have wide and flat bases. He’s a wafer of stone and mischief.”  
Sensing that you are no longer needed in the conversation, you inch along the bar, away from them.  
The man takes the opportunity to introduce himself “Graa’ant Makara. The shaman.”  
He extends his hand and you shake it without hesitation “I’m the traveller, I guess.”  
The other man makes a small noise of shock “Traveller? You mean a pilgrim? W-what, in this fuckin’ age? Lad, hav-ve you seen the state of the roads? It’s not safe for anyone out here.”  
His voice reminds you of the rush of water over stones, somehow. A kind of voice that could smooth stones into pebbles, then break them into sand if he talked long enough.  
“Well, we gotta get home somehow.”  
The man doesn’t lift his head while he talks to you, so he delivers this next piece of sage advice to the polished table “I’d settle in here if I were you, lad. W-winter’s gonna be a right bitch this year, mark my w-words. No safe place for you w-waits out there, not w-with the little one and the cursed one.”  
A prickle of fear climbs your spine “What do you suggest I do? I can’t stay here forever.”  
“W-why not?” counters the man.  
What a weird question “I don’t want this for my brother. To be trapped in one place for the rest of his life just because I’m afraid to leave.”  
Graa’ant puts a hand on the other man’s shoulder “Ah, don’t listen to the old Ferryman. He’s just an old motherfuckin’ coot jumped-up on sunburn. The old man’s as swirly in the head as the river.”  
From the fond tone of voice, you guess they’re either boning or best friends. Maybe both?  
Now the two children join you at the table.  
They’re not that much older than Dave, which makes you want to ask where their parents are. But the confidence with which the older of the two plunks herself down on the table suggests that she’s used to taking care of herself and her brother. Probably far more capable of doing so than you are, in fact.  
“Hi, I’m Jane.” she sticks her hand out.  
Your hand engulfs hers as you shake it “Dietrich.”  
“Yeah, I heard. So, tell me Dietrich, how is your little brother taking the roads?”  
You glance over at Dave. He is curled up under the blanket like a cat, clutching the frog like a plush. In his sleep, he has moved to cup Karkat in the palm of his hand, so the wounded cardinal is now nestled to his cheek. The fire casts a soft, gentle shadow over his face and hitches up near the corner of his mouth. You have never seen him smiling in his sleep before. The Unknown must have really tired him out.  
“Fine, I guess. We had a scare last night.”  
“Is that what bashed your friend up?”  
You look down and see the buck-toothed little kid staring up at you, his grin big and more innocent than it has a right to be in a place like this “Sure is. Which one are you?”  
“I’m John. Me and Jane are sibs.”  
“He can tell that, dummy,” she says fondly “We look exactly like each other.”  
And they do, apart from the ethnic difference.  
“Why don’t y’all sit yerself down?” offers Graa’ant “Plenty of room, if Ferryman shifts his ass a little.”  
The Ferryman scoots to the end of the bench, giving Graa’ant room for his elbows and Jane room to sit comfortably. John gets up on the opposite bench with a bit of difficulty, and you join him, taking care to leave some space between you. You wouldn’t want a strange man sitting close to Dave.  
“Hey, Nepeta?” he calls over his shoulder “Can I get some milk please? What do you want?”  
You blink. What do they even serve here?  
“Uh, milk sounds good.”  
“Two, please, Nepeta!” John turns back to you “Is all that stuff true about the man in your closet?”  
“John! Don’t ask that!” flaps Jane “Oh my goodness, excuse him. He’s only little. He has no idea how to act, I’m so sorry.”  
“Nah, it’s cool. Sure is true, kiddo. Beat that guy up with a bat-uh, my bare hands and a shovel and everything. Wasn’t much bigger than you.”  
As far as you can tell, the kid staring starry-eyed at you through some thick glasses is about ten years old. His sister could be anywhere from eleven to thirteen, but you’re guessing she’s younger than you think.  
She reaches across the table and clasps his hands “People can’t lie when they’re telling stories in the Inn, John. It’s bad manners. And they’d burst into flames.”  
You swallow hard. Maybe the lie about the shovel was so small it didn’t matter, compared to the big truth you were telling? No one knows that story. Not even Jake knows about it and you’ve given Dave strict instructions never to mention the man that documented almost every night of your life for close to five years. It’s not something you talk or think about willingly.  
“Do they really?” asks John, his eyes wide with concern “That’s not true, is it Shaman?”  
The wicked grin that curves Graa’ant’s mouth is a kind version of an expression you have seen on your father many times, usually when he’s about to list your greatest failures if you’ve been getting a little bit too confident around home “Seen it with these very eyes, little brother. So many poor fools gone up in ash an’ smoke, ‘cos they were fixin’ ta make themselves look better in they stories. Saddest shit ever, little brother, but it happens all the time. See that stain over there?”  
He points out a slightly grey patch on the stone walls, where it looks like something was spilled a long time ago “Brother by the name of Tyrone Pines stood right over there, an’ told us a story ‘bout how he fought off fifty clones of hisself and came out on top. Burst into flame not a second later.”  
John gapes “Really?”  
The Ferryman shakes his head, making his cowl rustle “Tyrone Pines is livin’ happily in the forest of his home town, plottin’ a brutal rev-venge. Don’t believ-ve a word he says, John.”  
“But he was right about that last kid being a warm body,” protests John “The kid with the big coat and the scary face and the skull ring. He was a warm body, like Shaman said, even though he looked and smelled like one of us.”  
The Ferryman elbows Graa’ant in the stomach, like a brother “The only reason he knew-w that is because he saw the kid in Erebos, at the foot of the King’s throne! You’re nothin’ but a fraud, ain’t’cha?”  
The other man smiles “Ya caught me.”  
You have no idea what is going on.  
The other two women must want to join in the fun, because suddenly there’s one on either side of you. John seems perfectly comfortable to be hoisted and plopped into the lap of the blind woman, but if the other one, the eyepatch, if she decides there’s not enough room and tries to get you in her lap, you’ll flip your shit. You could not begin to explain why, but these ladies are sending off some really dangerous vibes. Not necessarily with intent to hurt you, specifically. Just the vibes in general.  
“You were talking about a scare,” says the blind woman in her scratchy, raspy voice that reminds you of an asthmatic and the hinges of a door squeaking at the same time “The scare was with Rus, right? He did that to Karkat? Poor Eq. Burying your brother like that is bad enough, but he had to patch up the victim he pulped too. I mean, I would say poor Eq, but I think we can all agree this is the right thing to do.”  
“I’m Vriska. The scratchy blind thing is Terezi,” Vriska shoots a grin at you that makes you want to punch her in the mouth and run “Don’t put your fingers near her mouth, ok? She bites.”  
“Roger.” you say.  
“No, I’m Vriska.”  
They both crack up.  
Jane gives you a sympathetic look “These are our hunters, Dietrich. Well, sort of. Nepeta’s officially the one who goes out and hunts the scum that steals us and eats our children, but Terezi and Vriska are there for when she needs some help. The rest of the time, they’re just kind of dangerous and useless.”  
“We are not useless.” retorts Terezi.  
“We’re just selectively helpful.” finishes Vriska, then she turns towards the empty bar and shouts at the back “Hey, Peta! Bring me an apple juice!”  
“Can I get a please?” she calls from the kitchen.  
“Please, thank you, you look nice today! There, I’m out of niceties for the day. I hope you’re happy.”  
“The girls are about to get real busy,” says Graa’ant, suddenly solemn “Ain’t a doubt in my mind that they the best hunters and gatherers in these parts, but they got they motherfuckin’ work cut out for ‘em, what, with this Pottsfield business.”  
Your stomach drops “What exactly happened to Pottsfield?”  
“Y’all saw it, yeah?”  
You nod, trying not to lick your lips nervously “From a distance.”  
“W-well, w-what did it look like w-was goin’ on?” presses the Ferryman.  
“There was this dome of light over it.”  
The table grows silent.  
So of course, Nepeta picks this moment to bustle in and start passing out drinks. You and John get a frothing milk each, and Vriska and Terezi get this tall glass of golden juice you are immediately jealous of. They stick two straws in it and pass it back and forth across your arms, both of them sipping with an identically thoughtful expression. The two men each get a beer, which also makes you kind of jealous. Here you are, sitting in the middle of a table of people you suspect you have to impress to survive, and you’re drinking a fucking milk with the little kid.  
Striders, everyone. That’s just how you fucking roll.  
“It was one of the corpses that attacked us. We were far away from the town, though. It was around night-time. I don’t know when the corpses got out, but…I guess they followed us away from the town for a long time before they caught up.” you say, cringing into your milk.  
You hate yourself more and more with each syllable, but for some reason, no one else has picked up on how obvious the obvious lie spewing from your lips is. It must be your conditioning? At this pint you’re just so damned good at lying that only you would notice.  
Nepeta has returned to the bar with an empty tray. She is now behind the bar again and scrubbing another flagon.  
“Graa’ant and the Ferryman each lost a son to Pottsfield,” she says as casually as if she was talking about the weather “And the Ferryman lost another to familiar-traffickers.”  
Your heart skips a beat “Eridan?”  
For the first time, the Ferryman looks up “W-what did you say?”  
“Eridan.”  
“You know him?”  
“He saved me today.”  
The Ferryman grips the side of the table, rattling the drinks. Graa’ant straightens him up by the shoulders.  
“This is v-very, v-very fuckin’ important…how did he look?”  
“He looked good. In fact, he was talking and thinking normally. I think he may have escaped the transformation completely.”  
Terezi folds her arms around John’s thin waist “Dear fucking gods. He’s survived it that long? But he’s been gone for, what, five winters?”  
“Four w-winters.” rasps the Ferryman.  
“He said he wasn’t coming to the Inn. He was afraid of being caught, so he and two other kids, Jade and Sollux, they started to go in the other direction along the stream. I think they’re going to try to follow it to the ocean?”  
The Ferryman shakes Graa’ant off and stands suddenly “How-w long ago w-was that?”  
“Hours. Last night.”  
Graa’ant stands too “Chill, bro. They’re still little. They got tiny legs and a dark night in they way. Kids can’t have got that far.”  
The other man swallows hard “The Beast is about, you know. These roads ain’t safe for little ones. I ain’t waitin’. I’m goin’.”  
“I’m not stoppin’ y’all, but-”  
“And you’re not comin’ either. Stay here. You’ve got your own boy to take care of. Terezi, V-vriska, you stay here and help Nepeta with the corpses. There’s gonna be a lot of them comin’.”  
And with that, the Ferryman whirls away from the table. He is out the door before anyone can call after him, be it protest or encouragement. The door gapes open onto the early morning, and you can hear the sounds of dirt being shovelled in the distance. The other wraith, Equius or something, must still be burying his double-dead brother.  
Roxy clears her throat “What was that?”  
“Dietrich found Sol, Eri and Jade.” says Jane, beaming and wiping her eyes under her glasses “Four winters later. Can you believe it?”  
“I think we’re due for another story.” smiles Ms Paint “Tell you what, if you tell us about finding the kids, then I’ll tell you all about the woods. Any question you can ask, I’ll answer. I know it must be scary, coming here for the first time. How does that sound?”  
You think it over.  
“If I tell you about the kids, will you tell me who the Woods-woman is?”  
Silence falls again like a suffocating blanket. Ms Paint’s smile flickers. Nepeta drops the flagon she was scrubbing and it rolls across the floor. John almost chokes on his milk, and Terezi has to pat him on the back to keep him from choking.  
“You really have no idea where do are, do you, dear?” says Ms Paint “It’s a damned good thing you found us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silent Hill (kinda duh)  
> Heroes of Olympus series (because Nico gets lost when shadow-travelling all over the place, not just in China)  
> Gravity Falls (because Bill Cipher is a multi-dimensional little shit)  
> Now that I think about it, I could have squeezed in an Artemis Fowl and a Harry Potter reference, even a Supernatural one, so easily! Crap and whoops.  
> The special prize is the satisfaction of being the biggest nerd of them all for recognising those vague and scattered hints


	17. Of grass crosses and kissable mouths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, we get some more confusing, vague allusions to Dirk's past. Something magical happened to that boy, but he has no idea what it was.

Their names?  
Well, no dear, no one is sure of their names. The idea that there are two of them is a novel one in the first place. Many believe the Woods-Woman and the Beast are the same entity, perhaps, sharing a body? Or at the very least, the Woods-Woman is some kind of familiar to the Beast, with their positions reversed. If she is something powerful like the Vantases were, it makes sense to think of her that way.   
Anyway, just as no one is certain of the names of that awful pair, we’re not quite sure about their origins either. The legends range from a pair of skilled high-way men that made a deal with a foreign trickster god, to a more simple type, like the idea that the Woods-Woman is a witch that was possessed when she was unable to control a powerful familiar. There is even the idea that the Beast and the Woods-Woman were lost children at one point. You see, the Unknown was in the habit of making its own Edelwoods long before the Beast ever had a hand in it. Think of it as a catalyst. We began to lose so many more children and wanderers to the woods once the Beast and the Woods-Woman started to interfere.  
Oh, pardon me, you are aware of how an Edelwood is grown, yes? Oh, an Edelwood is a sort of tree. I’m sure you have seen plenty on your travels. The large, knotted and mottled ones? They’re the most gnarled and miserable looking plants you’ll ever lay eyes on. Well, you see once a person gets lost in the Unknown, they begin to lose something. We don’t quite have a term for it. I suppose the idea of a fire burning might be the most appropriate?  
Yes, let’s think of it that way. So, imagine yourself and your friends as a roaring hearth. Comfortable and populated, a safe place to be. However, once one loses themselves in the forest, it that fire will begin to die. First, it will shrink to about the size of a camp-fire, when you begin to lose hope of escaping. Soon it will reduce to the size of a guttering candle, especially with the Beast’s interference. That is when the first roots of the Edelwood begin to grow. Your skin will become tough. The texture of bark. It will splinter too. Then, your limbs become impossible to move. You will need to sit down to take the load off your aching limbs, and at that point the fire is nothing more than some smouldering coals. The tree grows around the poor, lost soul as the Beast stands by and sings his awful lullaby.  
By the time the tree is finished growing, there is nothing but ashes. And that is what an Edelwood is, do you see? A tree grown from misery, fed by the ashes of the hopeless soul inside it. Does that make sense? I don’t suppose there is anything like that in Silent Hill.  
Oh, goodness! Pardon me, perhaps it is better to become a tree than to be eaten!  
Now, there aren’t many of us that have personally encountered the Beast. Of course you can always hear him singing. The most terrible, beautiful song you’ll ever hear. He has the voice of an angel. There are two songs. One of them is a kind of poem, I suppose. He asks the souls into the woods with it. Once you hear the song, you can almost feel the roots of the tree growing up to your throat through the soles of your feet. The second one is the lullaby. In recent times, I fear it has become far more common. It is far more haunting, because you know the Beast only makes such a melody when another has fallen to his hunger.  
We recently lost a child to him. Just last week. The poor boy had been at his wits ends, trying to make it without his brother. We lost Rufioh Nitram to Pottsfield and I would say that broke Tavros. Over his last few days, he grew distracted and fearful and wandered at night. On the last night, we even brought him to the Inn, hoping that he would be safe with us. When the morning came we found he had broken the window open, somehow without making any noise to alert us. His footprints trailed into the forest. There is no point in searching, you understand, once someone is that far gone.   
Where was I? Ah, the Woods-Woman. She is not all that unusual to see, but it is quite an alarming experience whenever you do see her. The woman is…well, she doesn’t look right, does she? Something is very wrong with her, and it is easy to tell. The lantern that she carries- when the light of it falls upon you, all native of the Unknown feel sickly and weak. It’s almost like the dratted thing drinks you up. Do you understand what I mean? I’m sure you do. Nothing short of a warm body could resist the lantern, I’m sure.  
Usually you just see her in the woods. You see the fire in the lantern, among the trees. Then you run. What else is there to do, but run? Certainly, no one would ever think of confronting her. She may look like the rest of us, but she is nothing like we are. She feels nothing. She hungers for nothing. She wants for nothing, with her position firmly underneath the Beast’s thumb. We can tolerate the Woods-Woman well enough. The only thing to do is ensure that you are never alone or undefended on the roads at night. But the Beast?  
The Beast is impossible to escape. It is said that you are doomed once you have seen him properly. And indeed, the only testimony of his appearance we have comes from those who were taken away from us by him not much longer. Tavros himself said that he saw a creature so high the moon was blotted out by his horns, which were like the fan of a winter-bare tree.  
As far as we can tell, the Beast looks like one of his one trees. I’m sure it would be impossible to tell comprehend how he really looks unless we have seen him with our own eyes. I do so hope neither you nor your boys ever have the misfortune to confirm these descriptions.

Dirk Strider: stagger outside ========>

Your name is Dirk Strider and you are fucked.  
YOU ARE SO FUCKED.  
This is…this is so ridiculous.  
Where the hell are you, where things like this Beast can prowl the woods and steal away innocent children, and the people just shake their heads sadly as if he is something they cannot prevent, like a war or a storm that swept their loved-ones away? How can this place exist? People don’t turn into trees from hopelessness. And even if they do, how can people just accept it?  
How can they talk about it so casually?  
The atmosphere in the Inn became stifling. You had to get outside. At this point, you decided you trusted the Inn enough not to hurt your boys, so as you stumble outside, you leave them resting in front of the hearth. In the crisp autumn air, you feel cleaner. More exposed too. The trees are all around you. Which one of them was once a person like you, who cried and laughed and feared for their life when the Beast came for them?  
It doesn’t take much deduction to figure out that you’re not like these people. Whatever they are, they are not used to things like you. Luckily, they have mistaken you for a foreigner- like them, but in a different world. Maybe it’s the cloak? The hair? The eyes?  
You don’t know and you don’t want to know.  
You just want to get to Adelaide’s so this can all be over.  
Walking past the stables, you are not sure where you are going until you stand behind the man. The man sits at the bottom of a fresh grave. The only marker is a smooth, circular stone nestled in the grave-dirt, roughly where the head of his brother would be. Like a pillow over his face.  
Now that you’re close, you see that this is not a man. This is a boy, too.   
His dimensions are that of a fully-grown man, but his face is younger. His hair appears soft and somewhat downy, kind of like the feathers of a baby bird. And the way he sits at his brother’s grave is so young, so heart-broken and vulnerable…he can’t be much older than you. Maybe he is younger than you are.  
The grave is in a good place, you think. It lies roughly equidistant between the back of the stables (which are empty now) and the tree-line. In the summer, you imagine it will not only be tall, dry grass out here. Wildflowers with long stems and bright faces, strewn all over the grave. By that time something will have grown over the freshly-turned dirt. And it will be like nothing is down there at all, except for the stone in place to mark the corpse he has buried.  
“I know what you are.” says the boy, flat and uninterested.  
“A wraith,” you try, weak and unconvincing “Like you.”  
“No, you’re nothing like me. Do not insult me by pretending to be one of my own clan…not right now. I do not pretend that I am happy you have picked this particular charade, but I will do nothing to interrupt it.”  
Something releases in your chest. It’s kind of a relief to realise that you don’t have to worry about covering your ass in front of this guy. Right now, he looks so defeated you can’t picture him trying to manipulate you later on.   
“So you know what I am?”  
He nods “A warm body. A very, very lucky warm body.”  
“Because I’m not dead yet?”  
“Because no one has noticed yet.”  
“How come you know?”  
“I saw the moon turn red.”  
“So did a bunch of other people.”  
The boy looks at you sharply. His eyes are a shocking, bright blue “I already know who you are, Dirk. You don’t remember me?”  
You shake your head, your heart in your mouth “Who are you?”  
“Never mind.”  
He turns back to the marker and puts his head on his knees, effectively blocking any further attempt at conversation. Not wanting to go back to the Inn yet, you sit down at a respectful distance from the grave. Plucking some tough, dry strands of grass, you begin to fold and bend the stalks. The texture is like sand and dry skin between your fingers. Autumn has sucked the moisture out, you guess. The trees here are also a riot of red and orange, painful to look at for too long.  
“What was his name?”  
The boy takes a minute to reply “Rus.”  
You make a faint, random connection. A blue scare-crow. Blue eyes.  
“Short for Horus?”  
The boy doesn’t look up at you as he nods “He died at Pottsfield.”  
“No, he didn’t.”  
“Yes he did. This thing I buried…it’s not anything. It is a mere vessel for the illness.”  
“No, listen. They were there. The people at Pottsfield were still people. They wore these straw suits, like scarecrows, and they were stuffed with metal and bone. They walked and talked. I swear to God, I’m telling the truth.”  
The boy looks sick to his stomach. He stares in shock at the grave, then at the sky almost beseechingly “Oh, gods. Are you…are you sure?”  
“Uh, yeah. What’s wrong.”  
“Blast that Mayor! I knew something like this had happened! That spell you saw…dear gods, I am surprised you lived to tell me this. Are you sure they were really inside there? Thinking and judging for themselves?”  
“I had help from one of them.”  
As proof, you dig the bell out of your pocket and hold it out to him. The blood drains from his already pale face. He covers his mouth with his hand and looks to the ground. Quickly, you put the bell up, unsure of how to make this easier for him.  
“Loz Makara.”  
“Like…oh shit, like the Shaman? The Shaman’s son?” how did you miss that when Graa’ant first introduced himself? God, how stupid are you?  
“The Shaman’s lucky son.” whispers the boy, more to himself than to you “What did Mayor Enoch do to them.”  
“Can you tell me what I saw? Please? You’re kind of scaring me.”  
The boy shudders “I didn’t know you could do that. Be afraid.”  
“Also, it would be really fucking great if you could tell me how the hell you know me?”  
For a moment, there is only the sound of wind in the trees and the distant song of birds.  
“The Mayor, Enoch, he was always a strange one. I didn’t like him, the first time I met him, if that tells you anything.”  
You shrug, your hands busy with the grass.  
The way the boy tells his story is far more emotional than what you heard inside the Inn. Not emotional like weeping and wailing, but he seems far more connected to his pain than the others inside allowed themselves to be. Like the Ferryman when he rushed from the Inn for his son- God, do you hope he finds Eridan safe and sound, and the others too.  
“He had this warped sensibility of what was good for the town. He had to, I suppose, since the town he governed was a rather strange one. It housed the Unknown’s strangest and brightest, so I am not surprised to hear that there was a dome over the town when you passed it,” he gives you a very sharp look at this “Though I suspect you, yourself, must have been underneath the dome at one point, yes?”  
Mutely, you nod.  
“It doesn’t seems strange to me either to know that the town was able to imprint themselves into those suits. See, the magic you are telling me they used…it was banned, along with the Grist.”  
Your heart immediately splashes into your stomach “I got rid of that.”  
“And that’s the only reason I let you near.”  
“You mean you saw-”  
“Yes.”  
Now the fear is replaced by a white-hot anger “And you didn’t help us? Did you not notice that we kinda needed help? You- ugh, God! Maybe if you’d helped us, Karkat would be so badly hurt!”  
The boy bites his bottom lip “I didn’t know what you had them for. And now I see- you have no idea what they are, do you?”  
“No! I don’t know where I am or what’s going on or who you people are,” you have to take a deep breath and drop your voice to a hot whisper “And I don’t know what to think or how to get home. All I want to fucking do is get out of here. I just want to take my brother and my friend and leave for Adelaide’s pasture. Is that too much to fucking ask?”  
The boy shakes his head, and a strand of dark hair falls across his mouth. For some reason, it makes you want to kiss him. You’re mad, uncomfortable, scared and he’s covered in dirt from burying his brother, mysterious, scary and frustrating. And yet you want to kiss him so badly your mouth aches from the desire.  
Jake.   
Why did you have to ruin things with Jake?  
That’s what set this off, isn’t it? The black hair. Jake’s hair is short, this boy’s hair is long and copious, but it doesn’t seem to matter to your mind.  
The boy mistakes your silence for anger. Good thing too. You doubt he would let you kiss him, if you asked before trying to. You’re not going to try, are you? Unsolicited kissing is bad. Especially on top of his brother’s grave, from an angry stranger that apparently threatens his well-being by just being around.  
“My name is Equius.”  
“I don’t know anybody named Equius.”  
“You used to know me.”  
Irritable, you draw back, wishing that the urge to kiss him would just go away already “Well I have no idea who you are now.”  
“Maybe it is for the best you go. While you still have the daylight.”  
You glance up at the early morning sun, frowning “The day aren’t right here. They’re too long. So are the nights.”  
“I know. It makes it difficult for me to sleep too.”  
He stands up suddenly and brushes the dirt from his breeches “Come on. Get up, get inside. Pack up your brother and your friend. I will walk with you for a time. I don’t wish to be here any longer.”  
“Wait. Here, take this.”  
You show him what you have made from the grass. By bending it and threading it into several knots, using a trick Jake taught you from his Sunday school with reeds, you have made a small, looping cross out of the grass. Equius takes it gingerly in his soil-stained hands and turns it over curiously.  
“What is this?”  
“It’s a symbol where I come from. It means…well, it’s from a religion, but where I’m from we smack it on top of our dead folks to let the people know we respect them and miss them.”  
Equius doesn’t quite know what to do with the cross. So you take it from his hands and skirt around the grave, up to the headstone. You ease the cross underneath the stone so it will stay there, even in the wind.  
“You don’t have to leave it there if you don’t want to.” you say self-consciously.  
Equius shrugs “I don’t mind…thank you.”  
You nod “Let’s just get out of here.”

 

The Woods-Woman watches from the tree-line.   
She can’t come very close to the boundaries of the Inn. Used to be, at the height of her powers, she could go as far up as the front step, where she could knock and languish and scrape her fingernails along the flanks of the house until she grew tired of her sport. Now, not only has the game lost its novelty, but she has grown too tired for such things. Most of her energy goes into fuelling the lantern. The lantern commands her attention every day, every night, never letting her rest.  
Until it has an interest in what interest her. Long ago, the Woods-Woman realised that it was essentially a piece of the Beast that was tucked into her lantern, burning and flickering and clamouring for as much Edelwood oil as she could supply. The thing that sometimes stalked beside her in the woods and sings in the forest is a very different thing, but it is not independent from what she carries. Perhaps, if she were younger, braver, she would do something with this knowledge.  
But she is not  
When she notices the lantern has been distracted, she is only glad of the moment of respite.  
It has taken an interest in the two boys.  
One was burying a corpse when the Woods-Woman first came upon him. The lantern had her stop, buried in the shadows of the tree-line to watch as he lowered a cloth-wrapped bundle into the ground. He arranged it carefully and kissed the forehead of the bundle, before he began to sweep the dirt back onto it. It seems strange to the Woods-Woman. After all the time these people spend trying not to become a part of the Unknown, they sure are happy to drop their dead into the soil the moment the life is out of them.  
The other boy, the white-haired, white-skinned boy in the ink-black cloak she met at the Vantases’ mill, comes out a short time later. They talk for a time. They sit beside each other and talk some more.  
The Woods-Woman hears them, but the words mean little to her.  
What care does she have for their cares? A part of her certainly wishes she could find relevance in their troubles, their young, raw emotions. Not wishes. Craves. She craves the understanding. The empathy.  
But the lantern will not allow for it.  
The lantern does not allow for much. Once the boys have retreated to the safety of the Inn, the Woods-Woman risks a closer look at the grave. The lantern has had the courtesy to burn softly, so its flames are not obvious in the woods. Now, it even allows her to set it down on a fallen log so she can creep closer.  
The Woods-Woman walks to the grave. Freshly turned dirt, a smooth head-stone, undecorated except for the grass object the white-haired boy had been making. She watched his deft and nimble fingers with a consuming jealousy. What she wouldn’t give to be able to make something like that. To have idle hands again.  
With this thought taking possession of her mind, the Woods-Woman stoops and takes the grass thing from under the headstone. She pockets it and walks swiftly back to the woods, where the lantern waits.

 

His name is Equius Zahhak, and the urge to kiss him has not gone away.  
What is this? No, really, what is your body trying to do to you? Now that you and Jake are over (you know you’re over, but you also know there’s no getting over Jake) , are you really such a fickle jerk that you want to kiss all the boys?  
You don’t really want to kiss him, right? You just want to kiss somebody. To be kissed. To be reminded that you’re a human again.  
Still, it makes it pretty fucking hard to talk to him, with the needling desire on your mind.  
Karkat is asleep in your shirt. One of your arms is folded underneath the little bundle, cradling him, preventing him from falling and, you hope, making him comfortable. Dave walks at your side. He holds your hand absently, not listening to you or to Equius. The frog, newly Christened Mr Paint in honour of the Ms that was so nice to Dave when he finally woke up, is far more interesting to him. It croaks incessantly and keeps sticking its head out of Dave’s cravat, only to dive back in to safety a few moments later. Weird little thing.  
After you announced you were going to leave the Inn during that day, you got a lot of heart-felt goodbyes and well-wishes. Jane told you to keep a weathered eye on Dave, adding that a rope leash that connected the two of you might not be a bad idea (it was what she and John did when they were on the road). Graa’ant, the Shaman, had left some time in the short time you were out of the Inn talking to Equius, so you could only ask Roxy to pass on a goodbye to him when next she saw him.  
Ms Paint told you to be careful of the Beast. She said it like a joke, but the way she clasped your hands suggested that she really was afraid for you. You wondered if Tavros was someone important to her. The two girls, Vriska and Terezi, told you if you ever needed help not to hesitate to scream for them. There was always a chance they would be nearby, said one while the other cleaned a sword she had pulled from the shaft of her cane.  
You smiled weakly, thinking to yourself that you would be screaming and running in the other direction if you ever encountered them again.  
Finally, Roxy pulled you off to the side. She seemed to think she had some kind of responsibility to you and your boys, like she knew that you had this automatic desire to trust her. True, your interactions were polite and minimal, but you still felt the most comfortable with her.  
She said “If you need to, don’t hesitate to come back.”  
And you said “I won’t.”  
You actually meant it too, for a change.  
Nepeta discreetly pressed a knife into your hands as you were going out the door.  
“Even if you don’t know how to use it, it’s good to have around.”  
The knife bounces in your pocket, hitting your calf with each step to remind you it is there.  
With the combined distractions of the knife and Equius’s mouth, it’s really hard to understand what he is saying.  
“The Mayor was always interested in the preservation and extension of a natural span of existence, so I suppose it should come as no shock to me that he allowed that kind of magic to exist…what it did, you see, was it took an impression of the soul. But only an impression. A vague approximation of the shape of the person that inhabited the body, then it pasted it to a jumble of random objects that were never designed to sustain or house intelligent life. It would be like trying to build a fire with soggy wood. It just doesn’t work. What you were talking to were not people, but echoes. An echo of an echo, in fact. Do you understand?”  
“Nope,” you say honestly “But I kind of get what you mean about the people not being people. They…they were too quiet, you know? They just stood and stared at you sometimes. They didn’t move around unless they had a clear goal in mind, or someone to watch them. The way they talked, it was kinda like they were just rehearsing lines for a show…but what about Loz? Kurloz Makara, he helped us.”  
“He saved us.” adds Dave “He was a good guy.”  
Equius blinks “That’s odd. Are you certain he was aware of himself?”  
“He was lucid. Totally lucid. The only one, in fact, that seemed like there was a normal person under there. The rest of them were just kinda…empty? Like you said.”  
“Perhaps it has something to do with his blood-line, then. The Makaras are an unusual family.”  
“How?”  
“Well, the head of their family, Graa’ant, he is the Shaman. He is the one in charge of ensuring the Unknown is protected from outsiders and interlopers that mean us harm. A few winters ago, before Pottsfield, we had this…trickster, I suppose, enter the Unknown. A horned god with a staff and a lot of demands to make of us. He thought us a weaker people, suited to domination. That is where your friend’s father proved him wrong, with the help of our Shaman.”  
“So the Vantas family saved the Unknown from slavery?”  
Equius shrugs “Wouldn’t you say that most of us are already enslaved by our fear of the Beast?”  
“Dunno. Haven’t met many people here yet. You guys seem cool.”  
His face grows dark “You would not have said that if you had seen the way we acted when Tavros Nitram went missing.”  
An uncomfortable, heavy silence falls on you. The frog shuts up too.   
“With the Grist?” you venture.  
Equius’s eyes flash “If you have any sense at all, you will never use that word again.”  
“I’ll stop him,” offers Dave.  
At this, Equius’s face actually softens “You do that.”  
“So, are you gonna tell me how I know you, or what? Because it’s really creepy that I’m just sorta following you into the woods with no idea of how you know my name.”  
Equius gestures up the path “You’re following the path, not me.”  
“Ok, well it’s creepy to share the path with you when I don’t know who you are.”  
“You guys know each other?” pipes up Dave “Whoa, weird coincidence.”  
“Hardly.” mutters Equius “Considering the manner in which we used to know each other.”  
Frustrated, you press him “Are you gonna tell me or not?”  
“If you do not remember then it is probably for the best that I do not remind you.”  
It would be a whole lot easier to be angry with this guy if he didn’t have the world’s most kissable mouth right now.  
“Fine. That’s fine by me.”  
A few more minutes grind by in silence. The frog begins to croak again, contented.  
Equius stops suddenly “This is as far as I will go. Just stick to this path. When it forks, take the right branch. If you are going the right way you should have reached the river by nightfall. From there, assuming the Ferryman is back, he can take you to the correct bank. Take care that you do not attempt to wade the river by yourself. I can only imagine how disastrous the consequences would be for people such as yourselves…and another thing. Tell no one who you are. Let them keep thinking that you are a wraith, understand?”  
“Sure.”  
He frowns, sweeping some hair from his face “Good luck. You will need it. And don’t let the Good Woman take too much from you.”  
With that last, cryptic remark, the boy turns on his heel and starts back the way you have come.  
“Thank you!” calls Dave.  
In reply, Equius waves. He does not turn again.  
Finally, the urge to kiss him is gone. Maybe he was your first love in another life? Your first boyfriend, a forgotten face from kindergarten that somehow wound up sunk as deep in this trouble as you have become?  
This is going to bother you for a long time.  
“Come on, Dave. We’re almost there.”  
In his sleep, Karkat stirs underneath your shirt. He lets out a moan, almost like a human child whimpering. But he does not wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirk is a thirsty little bitch  
> (don't worry folks- DirkJake still exists here in a big, big way)  
> (in fact there's some of it coming in future chapters)  
> (heh heh)  
> (i love brackets they're just so fun to use)


	18. The age of the peacock, and other near-death experiences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well we're getting close to 20 chapters. There's not too much longer to go, now. I think maybe another 10, if I really drag it out. We're likely to finish up under 1000 views, but I don't think that matters so much. This fic has a small but stubborn readership, some of which are very dedicated about leaving detailed reviews (you know who you are, my friend) and I can't thank you guys enough for that.  
> Fandoms are essentially therapy, am I right? Therapy for the stress of life and being the weird people we are in life. It's kinda a rewarding thing when a little gathering place like this happens in a fandom as well. However very little this may be.  
> Well enough of that rambling sap.  
> Here's the chapter. And here's yet another problem for Dirk to handle all on his lonesome.  
> Go, Dirk, go.

Your name is Dirk Strider, and surprisingly, the last day has passed without much incident. Perhaps it was just your exhaustion and confusion that made the last day and night seem as slow as molasses? Today has gone by at the normal rate. Dave walks on without much complaint, distracted by the process of naming his frog again. Karkat dozes fitfully in your shirt, issuing small, chirping noises of discomfort every time you have to jostle him by jumping over a log or something similar. You definitely have to get him off the road. Following the directions that Equius gave you a while back has worked so far, with regards to getting you closer to Adelaide.  
Actually, your last encounter with Equius was not as satisfying as it should have been. One, you should have kissed him. Thrown caution to the wind, told Dave to look at some flowers, and just made the hell out with him. Screw Jake. Screw re-bounding. You’ve had a long, hard series of days that started way before you got into this weird purgatory, and you just wanted to get it kissed better.  
Two, you should have asked him how he knew you were a warm body, which you guess means he knows that you’re alive. Which either means that these people are all dead and you’ve somehow wandered into hell, or that there’s some other state of being that is not dead or alive. Kind of like the plasma of existence- that random state nobody expected to exist until an innovative scientist made the right mistakes in their experiments, and boom, there it was.  
Three, what did he mean with that last remark about the Good Woman? What was she going to try to take from you?  
You’re not stupid. A remark like that is not given in an off-hand way; it means something. Most likely, it means that you’re going to have to barter to get Dave out of here, with something of greater and deeper value than any mere material thing. If it comes to that fine. She can take your eyes. Your voice, if she turns out to be a sea witch or something. You want to hang onto your soul for now, on the off chance that you actually need it and use it someday.  
You have had plenty of time to think about where you are and what’s going on.  
In fact, walking through the Unknown with only your only judgement with which to filter what you’re seeing it’s kind of easier to see things for what they are.  
You and Dave have passed through several silent, shells of towns. Two so far, but in both there was a high population of those gnarled, sprawling trees that they called Edelwoods back at the Inn. They seemed oddly placed for trees, as well. They grew up in the middle of squares and streets, in places you didn’t think seeds could germinate. Some houses are full of Edelwood- their branches reach out from broken windows or holes smashed in the masonry. The trees are everywhere. You counted close to forty in the last town. And they do have faces. Odd, swirling patterns like grimaces in the bark that make you look twice. But instead of the faces disappearing at a second look, they only seem to grow more defined.  
The towns that you and Dave have passed through lay under a thick layer of dust. The doors to the houses were all shut, and the few you tried were also locked. It’s comforting to realise that whatever caused these people to leave did not chase them screaming from their homes in the middle of the day. Or maybe it’s not? Maybe they all died in their beds instead.  
Dave held your hand tightly when you walked through the first ghost town. In the second, you had to hold him by the collar, he was so determined to get into everything. He roamed and explored and called into the empty houses, enjoying the echoes. He almost climbed into a dry well with a drop of about 30 feet to the bottom, at which point you threw him over your shoulder and didn’t let him walk on his own for about half a mile.  
While you are lost in thought, Dave chatters on happily, about anything and everything. You don’t notice the conversation steering itself to darker waters until it is too late to turn it back.  
“Is Bro ever gonna start hitting me?”  
He asks the question so casually that you almost trip in shock.  
Adrenaline squirts into your veins at the mention of your father- hearing about him always gets you on the defensive, ready to run for the hills “Uh…why the hell would you ask me that?”  
“How old were you when he started hitting you?”  
“Bro doesn’t hit us.” you say through gritted teeth.  
Dave pauses “Ok, well how old were you when…yeah he does hit us, Dirk. He hit you before school, the last time we went to school.”  
It was as if your father somehow knew the disappointment you would be bringing home with you. Your school sends the report cards via email to the parents in the fifth period around the same time the students get them, so there was no way he already knew, right? You weren’t flunking either, so there was no real reason for your coach to call him up personally. You were just getting a lower-than-the-average grade. For some reason, when you came into the kitchen, he just turned on you and slapped you across the face. You didn’t question him. Arbitrary violence isn’t unusual in your house.  
You just got up, rubbed your stinging cheek and got the milk from the fridge for your cereal.  
“I didn’t know you saw that.”  
Dave shakes his head “I heard it. How come you didn’t say anything either?”  
“Why are you asking me this?”  
“How come we don’t talk about it?” he protests, clutching his frog “I want to talk about it. I want to know why we’re different. We’re kinda cool ‘cos we got swords and stuff, but we’re also…you know. Other people at school talk about how their parents take them out on the weekends. Bro never takes us to movies. Bro never takes us out to eat. Bro never takes us camping or out on the weekends. The only time I can remember going out was that time we sneaked away and went to the beach when Bro had the cold, remember?”  
Last summer. Dave was all of six years old. You were fourteen. Sick of home and glad of the break from your Bro that the cold offered, you had thrown some food and sunscreen into a bag and took Dave to the beach closest to Archer’s Pass on the bus. The two of you stayed out there all day, building sand castles, swimming, chasing each other in and out of the water and spending one, terrified moment in the surf where Dave thought he had seen a shark that proved to be a piece of seaweed doing a great shark impression. You took the bus back home and arrived just as it had gotten dark, with sand everywhere and matching sunburns. Bro was too sick to notice, thank God.  
That was a nice break from life.  
Just you and Dave, having fun, enjoying your youth and relative innocence.  
“Bro’s just busy.”   
“Yeah, but…” Dave struggles to find a good way to word his complaint.  
You should be talking about this. You really should, but you can’t make yourself do it.  
Instead, you just look along the dark avenue of trees. Orange leaves are piled in drifts on the sides of the road. The air is nippy and the sky is growing dark. You have bigger things to worry about, like being on a road that the Beast have obviously frequented when Karkat’s in such bad shape.  
Finally, Dave manages something “How come he doesn’t hit me?”  
There’s a good reason he doesn’t hit Dave. He would be, but you won’t let him. There’s one incident you have yet to tell Dave about, or Jake. Jake knows that your father is not the nicest person in the world, but he swallows the lie about ‘training’ easily enough. You think that may be one of the reasons you broke up with him- because he never confronted you. Never smelled the bullshit and dragged you onto a white horse to ride in safety.  
Too much to expect, you know, but by the time you had talked yourself down from those expectations of Jake it was already kinda too late.  
“He doesn’t hit you because you’re a good kid.” you say simply “You do what you’re supposed to. You’re just better at being around than I am.”  
Dave waves his little hand dismissively “Don’t be dumb. I don’t want to talk about it if you’re not gonna be smart.”  
That shouldn’t sting as much as it does.  
You wrap your arm around his shoulders and knock his head against your hip. Dave grumbles wordlessly, folding his arms. He lets you hold him for a little while before he can no longer deal with the affection, then bats your hands away and marches off down the path.  
He starts to mutter about you to his frog, which makes you want to smile.  
“Dave.”  
He glares at you over his shoulder.  
“I love you.”  
Dave sticks his tongue out at you.

You smell the house before you see it.   
A heavy rain began about 10 minutes earlier. The trees had begun to peter out around the same time that the canopy became useful for protecting you and Dave from the rain. The forest peeled off around the path as the path became a packed, dirt drive lined with smooth stones. You pulled your hood over your head and tucked Dave in the spacious folds of your cloak to keep him dry. The frog squirmed eagerly for the rain, so you had to take a hold of that too to make sure it didn’t leap out of Dave’s hands and send your little brother into the woods, after it.  
The Unknown looks very green, when its leaves are washed. What little is left of the healthy green stuff has become glossy and beautiful under the sheen of the water. The smell of the rain is pleasant too, until it become scented by the specific, acrid tang of burned wood.   
Then, cresting a hill, you see what has made the smell. A house sits on the hill, behind a high, black metal fence and at the back of a large lawn. The lawn is slightly unkempt and crowded with a riot of flowers spilling out of their beds- one last big hoo-rah from spring before the autumn makes the buds shrivel back into the earth, chasing the plants into dormancy for half of the year. The house itself is only half burned. The other half is made of fine, if slightly sooty and scorched white stone and plaster. A grand old mansion. One half gaping to the elements and blackened by fire. The other half sealed and clean. And occupied, going by the light in the window farthest from the burned half.   
Immediately, you get a creeping sensation of dread.  
“Let’s keep going,” you say, at the same time that Dave says “We have to stop.”  
“I’m tired,” he insists “And it’s almost night. Karkat will be a guy again in a second. You can’t carry him around in the rain, or he’s gonna get a cold too.”  
Can’t argue with that.  
“Fine, but you have to stay very, very quiet, Dave. See that person up there? That light? We’re gonna try not to let them know we’re here.”  
He looks at you like you’re crazy “Why not? That’s breaking and entering. That’s illegal.”  
“It’s just easier. Not everyone is as nice as the people from the Inn.”  
“But not everyone is mean. What if it’s somebody like Karkat?”  
“What if it’s somebody like Ms Rosa?”  
He frowns “Alright, alright. I’ll hold your hand and everything.”  
You approach the house cautiously. With the darkening sky, the cloak should provide some camouflage. You have noticed the fabric tends to blend with the shadows and makes a spectre of you, so you don’t quite look solid or real. You are counting on the person with the light, or the people, not noticing you because of this. The last thing you want to do is encounter another batch of weirdoes. Meeting the people from the Inn were emotionally draining enough. You don’t care if it’s Sollux or Jade’s father holed up in that room. You’re not going to go out of your way to meet them.  
You open the gates just a crack- barely wide enough to allow yourself through. You nudge Dave through first, then edge in after him and close the gate soundlessly.  
Dave points “Peacock.”  
A bedraggled, blue bird steps out of the shadows the good half of the house casts. It takes a moment to size you up before spreading the fan of its feathers. A malicious glint enters its black eyes.  
“Shit.” you grab Dave and make a mad dash for the front door.  
The peacock follows it hot pursuit, rattling its feathers and hissing like a snake. You cuss. The terror is genuine. The grass melts beneath your feet towards the door as Dave laughs a little bit hysterically. The frog has sensed the danger and urges you on with some croaks.  
Finally, you make it through the door. Of course, the rain and your panic have made a surface that is virtually impossible to get a grip on. You fumble frantically for a few precious seconds as the hissing peacock draws closer. Risking a glance over your shoulder, you see that if the peacock were a human it would already have its hands around your throat. You give up on hands and just ram the door with your shoulder. It gives open, seeing as it was open all along.  
The crash echoes throughout the ruined hall and the house.  
Slamming your weight against the door, you grope for the lock. Dave brushes your hands away patiently and locks it for you. From the other side of the door, you can hear the bird hissing, pecking at the wood as if its beak is an axe. You sigh in relief, and you could swear the frog does the same.  
Dave searches for Karkat under your shirt, running his hands over your heart “Wow, you’re afraid of peacocks?”  
You wheeze “I am not…afraid of peacocks…I’m afraid of their beaks. You know a swan can tear a fully-grown man’s tendon with a well-aimed peck?”  
He grins “I guess I’m safe then. Can I carry Karkat?”  
You hesitate. Well, whoever has lit that window on the far side of the house definitely heard your dramatic entrance. You’re guessing they probably had an excellent view of the first annual Striders vs Testy Peacock Derby of the Unknown too. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to get your little guys behind you, if you need to protect them.   
“Hold him carefully. Like he’s made of glass. Or better yet, soap. Karkat’s made of soap bubbles and if you bump him around too much he’s going to pop, ok? Here, swap me for the frog.”  
Dave takes the beaten bird from you with an appropriate solemnity. He brings Karkat close to his face. For a moment, you think he might be about to kiss him (no, bad), but he holds Karkat close to his ear. Listening to his heart too.   
“He sounds better.”  
You nod encouragingly “Sure, little man. He got some good help at the Inn.”  
The frog is not unpleasantly clammy or slimy, but it squirms. It wants to be back with Dave badly and looks at him with the longing eyes of a pining dog. This is weird, you think, but then again so is everything right now.  
“Check it out, big bro. This whole place is a mess.”  
Dave gestures around the place. Overhead, the scorched ceiling is barely holding together. A combination of fire-weakened wood and waterlogged plaster has made it sag dangerously in some places, like a pot-belly. There are no holes yet, but from the sound on the other floors to your right makes it clear that the storm is drumming right over you. The room itself used to be some kind of grand hall. Ribbons of wallpaper still hang off in some places, littering the floor in others. A few random pieces of furniture, mostly the antique kind of stuff you associate with old ladies telling you not to touch anything, are lying all over the place too. The whole room is as blackened as bacon fat at the bottom of the pan. A few hallways trail away, like black, gaping mouths. You cannot even begin to consider a set of circumstances where you’d be dumb enough to go down one of those.  
To the left, there is a deep, inviting silence. The kind of invitation you would get from a scummy man promising candy, if you’ll only climb into his white van, that is. You’re not sure if you want to risk taking it. But it has already gotten cold and you can’t make Karkat and Dave stay out in the wreck of this room, to be soaked by leaks and frozen by the creeping winter chill.  
“It’s dark.” says Dave.  
You arrange the frog in your shirt so its freaky, webbed hands are clutching at your collar “Astute observation. Ok, frog, here’s the deal. If you fall down my shirt and start squirming around down there I can’t be blamed for the falsetto noises I will make. Stay where I can see you, deal?” you pump a flipper gently between two finger-tips “I’m trusting you on this one, man.”  
The look the frog gives you suggests that it would really like to go back to Dave now. You smile at it, a real, unabashed smile. Animals, man. Your weak spot, when they’re not cussing you out and demanding to know what the hell a Germany is.  
“Dirk, it’s dark.” repeats Dave “Karkat’s gonna go any minute, right? What if he doesn’t wake up?”  
You cast an eye around the room, again, looking for a way that looks likely “I’ll carry him.”  
There is a staircase that leads off into that silence. Where the light is. Probably, where someone is walking the dark halls, maybe with another candle, searching for the intruders. God, you hope they’re nice. The better, the polite thing to do would be to wait here until your surprised host comes in and decides what to do with you. Worst to worst, if you’re kicked out, you can find a back door. If you’re attacked, you still have the knife.  
Its reassuring weight in your pocket is the only thing that keeps you from passing out, with the excess of adrenaline from the peacock that is still pecking at the door and the aura of this place.  
“Dirk!”  
“I’m thinking Dave.”  
“Dirk!”  
His voice has changed from whiny and impatient to terrified. When you look over at him, a chill runs up your spine, spills down your back and steals away your breath. Something has Dave’s hand. It’s holding his whole arm sort of wrenched up, at an odd, painful angle that has him on the tops of his toes. His free arm is curled protectively around Karkat.   
The frog rasps. Almost growls.  
The noise that comes out of your mouth is something that Jade would have made.  
In a second, you’ve lunged forward. You reach around where you think the thing’s neck would be and swing with all your might, aiming for an invisible solar plexus. You connect with a whole lot of cold nothing- you’ve punched a cold spot in the face. For some reason, it works.  
Dave drops to his knees and is immediately pulled off of them again, gathered into your chest. You jump backwards up the steps two at a time. The room is empty. The dark half looms and the wall that separates it shivers in a wind, as if threatening to cave in.  
Dave’s breathing is shallow “It felt like ice.”  
“I got you.” you cup a hand over his eyes, turning his face to your stomach “I’m gonna take care of it.”  
Of course, the door is shut. There was no door there a second ago. If it was there, then it was swung shut around the exact moment that you charged up here. Great. Now you’re trapped on an unstable stair-case in a storm, with some touchy, invisible monster. You hope knives work on ghosts, drawing it from your pocket.  
For a long string of seconds where you can barely breathe, nothing happens. You use the time to edge out of blank terror into faint relief. Did Dave do that on his own?  
No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t do that- you don’t even know what that was supposed to be, for fuck’s sake!  
The sound of a footstep draws your attention. Maybe the thing didn’t have any mass to it before, but it does now. Before your eyes, the water that has pooled on the floor splashes and ripples. From the way the water jumps up and slides down more slowly, you see it’s behaving as if it has dripped over shoes. Feet. Another splashing footstep in the water. Another. Making its way towards you and Dave, of course.  
You hold the knife up in front of you. From your stance and confidence, it should be clear you are no amateur.   
Behind the thing that makes stubborn progress across the hall, the walls begin to run red. Blood, you think. Dripping like runs of wax, thick, syrupy, but fast. Dave doesn’t see it, but he whimpers, so he must sense it’s time to freak out.   
“I got you,” you mutter “I’m not gonna let you or Karkat get hurt.”  
The entire wall is bleeding from the ceiling now. The room has grown hotter, rather than colder. Another set of footsteps start up and cross a puddle close to the first, as if walking to join it.   
“Did you hear that?” you try again and manage to be less squeaky “Did you hear what I said? You’re not touching my brother or my friend. Or my frog. You’re not hurting a single fucking one of them because I will find some way to take you down. Or maybe you will get them. Maybe you will kill me. But I’m making a solemn promise right now: I’m gonna take one of you fuckers down with me.”  
To your surprise and relief, the footsteps actually stop. You see the things standing in puddles- three of them now, all facing you, as the wall turns into a kind of crimson curtain behind them as if you are on stage and the curtain is falling into place. The Greeks, the founders of the theatre, always did like their violence off-stage, after all.  
“So. Who wants to try me?” you bark.  
You sound like your father when he’s angry.  
The stand-off is long and uncomfortable. Each second the ticks by, your anger tries to die down, but the shivering child at your waist keeps you from losing the feeling by much. Dave tries to turn around as the silence thickens. You don’t let him.   
Karkat needs to wake up.  
All at once, the blood stops flowing. The curtain of red that was almost complete is now broken up by a band of grey at the top, where the flow is tapering off. In a few seconds, it has stopped. There are only a few stray globs of red clinging to the cracks in the plaster to prove it ever happened.  
A voice speaks so clearly in front of you, you almost scream “Good luck, sport.”  
Dave tenses up. His little nails dig in between your ribs “Who’s that?” he gasps.  
“Nobody’s there.”  
As if taking a cue, the presences in the water suddenly disappears. The water stops rippling. In a second, it is as still as if nothing ever happened.  
Slowly, Dave looks up at you. His eyes are as wet as the blood “What just happened to us?”  
You ruffle his hair “Nothing. Wanna go?”  
He nods, wiping his cheeks with a sleeve “Out a window.”  
You take him by the chin and wipe his eyes for him on your sleeves. You get down on a knee for a better purchase. Dave throws an arm around your neck and presses his face into your chest, again, almost kissing a small animal that is down your shirt. Carefully, you take Karkat out of his other hand and give your friend a quick look-over.   
Better, but still not good. And he still doesn’t show a sign of wanting to wake up.  
You’re about to report this to Dave when the light of a lantern throws up a pool of harsh, yellow light. Immediately, you push your shades up your nose and stand. Dave comes up with you. He locks his little legs around your waist and puts his face in your neck, too scared or tired for another drama.  
The door has been opened quietly behind you, while you were cleaning up Dave’s face.  
You are facing a man, dressed in what must be a sharp suit for the era this place is caught in. Aware of the knife still held loosely in one hand, you let it hang by your side and size him up.  
He’s a large guy. Tall, but average in girth. You might be able to fight him off if you need to.  
The man glances past you. His white, clean eyes roam over the wall behind you. He seems satisfied by what he sees.  
“Well, you better come in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They should just shoot Karkat with adrenaline. It worked in 'Pulp Fiction'.


	19. Master of the house, possible serial murderer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We got some fan art, folks! Just look at the texture on that blood! I'm loving it, I really am  
> http://etoileluna1305.tumblr.com/post/128780536278/a-stroll-among-the-edelwoods-fanart-i-really-like

He introduces himself as Spades Slick, which has to be an alias. A professional alias, it sounds like. Why the hell else would he be wandering around in his half-burnt house, dressed like he’s getting ready to take his lady (or man…or both) to the ball if he’s not some kind of detective, poring over his notes in the dead of a storm?   
He lead you through several sumptuous halls- the kind that wouldn’t look out of place attached to Versailles or another one of those French palace-type places. You feel horribly out of place, with your shades and inky cloak and snivelling little brother (not to mention your two animal side-kicks, which have both been concealed in pockets for convenience’s sake). You’re dripping on carpets that are certainly expensive and imported, from wherever the Unknown’s equivalent of Persia is. You’re tired, not to mention edging towards hungry again (when would be a good moment to delve into your other, deeper pockets for what they sent you off with from the Inn, you wonder?). On the bright side, you don’t have the energy to be afraid anymore.  
A person can only teeter so long on the brink of pure terror before their nerves are stretched thin. It’s either you collapse over one side into insanity, or climb back down the other, carefully, nervously, as if from a ladder, to calmness. Because of the child on your arm and the bird in your shirt, you picked calmness. And besides, you may have ample reason to go nuts but you’re not ready to lose your mind just yet.  
When that happens, you want to be locked in a room with your father with an axe in your hands.  
Finally, Spades is done walking. He has lead you to a much fancier version of a living room. With his permission, you set Dave up on the couch and give Karkat back to him, with strict instructions to hide him for now. If Karkat’s name is a known one in these parts, then you think it’s safe to assume his family has got some enemies. Until he wakes up and gives you the chance to figure it all out, you’d rather that he stays secret.  
Dave watches Spades warily as you turn to him. The walk up here was quiet, giving you a chance to figure out what to say.  
You got nothing.  
Spades sets the lantern down on a high, glossy table with claw-feet “The wall started to bleed.”  
“Uh, yeah.”  
He shrugs “They’ll do that. So, sport, where the fuck did you come from?”  
You wince. There is venom in his words, though it doesn’t seem to be directed at you. Or anyone.  
You’re not sure if you like this.  
“We came from the roads.”  
The man cocks a slim, black eye-brow “Yeah, I figured that part out for myself. Saw you running like a harpy outta Erebos when my security system found you.”  
You glance out the window and see the rain-streaked lawn. In the gathering night, you can just about make out the silhouette of the peacock underneath a tree. Poised and waiting.  
“He ain’t really security. He just thinks he is. He’s taken it upon himself to protect these digs from everyone. Even me. Don’t go outside much anymore, what, with that piece of poultry going for my tendons every time.”  
“Swans are worse.” pipes up Dave “They could rip your tendons right out.”  
Spades looks at Dave quizzically, as if he didn’t notice him there “Is that right?”  
Dave nods, squirming under the weight of the man’s dead-fish eyes.  
Thankfully, Spades looks away quickly. Back at you, of course. If you had had the chance to look over him a little better before following him, you wouldn’t have followed him. His face is crumpled by a scar that halves his face, and with the wrinkles that one gets from stress, lack of sleep or peace of mind. His hair is stubble. His beard is stubble. You imagine he’s the kind of man that shaves with a straight-razor. The bags under his eyes are almost as big as the ones you get every year at the end of summer, when the stress of a new school year keeps you from sleep.   
Actually, now that you think about it, the fear of incurring your father’s wrath with future failures wasn’t so bad this year. Jake showed up at your window close to dusk and got you to pack a bag and sneak out, to spend the night at his house a few days before high-school started in earnest. He did it under the pretence of playing some video games, but chased you off to bed pretty early. You know he did it because he was just as conscious as you were of the growing bags under your eyes. And God, did it do wonders for you sleep, to be curled up beside him and cocooned in a warmth the two of you shared.  
And God, is this an uncomfortably intimate memory to be enjoying while staring at the unfriendly features of a face that looks like it might have once served as a dart board.  
You slip a hand into your pocket and close it around the handle of the knife “We just came here because of the storm. And the night. Bad time to be on the roads, don’t you think?”  
Spades nods slowly “Any time’s a bad time to be on these roads. You…you’re not from around here, are you?”  
How close is Silent Hill to this place, anyway?  
“We’re from nearby.”  
The corner of his mouth twitches “Got family?”  
This reminds you of those cautionary stories the girls you know swap about creepers at their part-time jobs “Yeah. Plenty. Couple sisters, couple brothers, one in between. Parents too. Goddamned blessing, in these rough times.”  
Spades draws back a little bit and rocks his shoulders back “A pack of rug-rats and a dame gnawing my ear doesn’t sound like a blessing to me, sport. I’m happy here. The fire- I don’t have to clean up as much anymore. Fine by me. The whole wing was going to shit anyway.”  
It somehow makes sense to you that this man doesn’t keep servants, nor that he doesn’t have the sense to cover that up. Is it really not so unusual to be this isolated in a dilapidated old mansion in the Unknown? Because this guy is acting like he has a big, juicy secret or evil intention he’s dancing around.  
“Dirk,” yawns your brother “M’tired.”  
You know his yawn well enough to know that he’s faking. He must want to get Karkat somewhere quiet before he transforms, which is a good instinct. You sure don’t want this guy seeing Karkat transform. Seems like something he could get hung up on and ask a lot of questions about. You don’t intend to answer any of his questions honestly, if you can help it.  
Again, Spades’ eyes flick over to Dave in mild surprise. He gestures vaguely over his shoulder “If you need to spend the night, there’s some rooms back there.”  
Dave nods uncertainly “We were walking all day.”  
Spades spins on his heels and heads off into the hall he pointed out. He doesn’t look back to make sure you’re following him.  
Dave takes your hand “When Karkat wakes up, we can talk. Then I want to escape out that window.”  
You give him a wry smile “Who’s gonna keep that peacock away?”  
He grows very serious “I will. I’ll protect you.”  
The room Spades shows you is equipped with, of course, a four-poster bed. The picture of luxury, if it weren’t covered in a light layer of dust. Apart from that, there is an ornate wardrobe in one corner and an even more ornate desk in the other. So much gilt on that thing, you don’t think it could ever be used to write a proper letter.  
For a moment, he stands in the doorway while you and Dave just sort of look at each other out of the corner of your eyes and wait for him to go away. When he closes the door and removes the weight of his eyeless stare, your legs go weak and you want to collapse. First thing’s first. Stumbling over to the bed, you peel back the covers to check for bugs or the corpse of its former occupant. When you find nothing but a bit of dust that can be swiped off, you get on your hands and knees and looks under the bed.  
Lined up in rows like ranks of soldiers are metal tubs, each one with a spout like a teapot’s. Carefully, you touch your finger to the slippery lip of the spout and come away with oil on the tips of your fingers. Oil. Burnt house.  
Well that raises the question, does he mean to burn you, the rest of the house or is this stuff totally unrelated to what happened to the house and just happens to be sitting here, gathering dust? After seeing this, you’re at least sure that you don’t want to stay in this room.  
Dave pads over and pokes you in the back of the neck.  
“He’s standing outside.” he whispers.  
Sure enough, you see the glow of his lantern still bleeding through. There are two patches of shadow where his feet are, although you can’t see his shoes in the gap underneath the door. You feel kind of ok with this. Creepy as hell, sure, but after growing up around your father, if there’s one thing you can do, it’s deal with adult men wanting to beat the shit out of you and not being afraid to express this.  
You flash Dave a quick, reassuring smile “Relax kiddo. He’s not coming in.”  
Sometimes your father does this. He just stands outside the door with his back to it. He says nothing and you pretend you don’t know he’s out there. Eventually, he goes away. It’s just a waiting game.  
Tugging Dave into your lap, you sit on the edge of the bed to wait. Dave puts Karkat on a pillow and draws the hem of the light sheet up to his red breast.  
“When’s Karkat waking up?” he whispers nervously “We need him to get up soon.”  
It has occurred to you many times that Karkat might not be waking up. He may have died defending you and his body is just taking a long time to come to terms with this. But he looks better. He’s been treated and was sent away in the hopes of a recovery, right?  
“He’ll wake up when he’s good and ready.”  
Dave points to the door “He’s gone.”  
Listening carefully, you hear some faint footsteps retreating the way you have come. To celebrate, you pinch Dave’s chubby sides and blow a raspberry when he squeals a complaint.  
“We’re safe?” he asks, swatting at you frantically.  
“Safer than we were two seconds ago.”  
Dave retrieves his frog and springs off your lap. He looks for something to do with his hands while he talks to you, and the wardrobe attracts his attention. When he eases the doors open, they shudder on their hinges. Obviously they haven’t been opened in a long time.  
“See a winter coat?”  
“No…lots of pretty dresses though.”  
He steps back to show you an array of moth-eaten, limply hanging dresses that recall what Roxy wore. The same fashion era, at least. Some are without the corsets, so they look like the modest black dresses of a school matron. Whoever owned these clothes was a plain dresser, in spite of the wealth that surrounded her.  
Dave bites his bottom lip “Do you think he killed the lady that lives here?”  
“Maybe.”  
“What should we do? Look for her body?”  
You shrug “I don’t know where that’s gonna get us. There’s no question that we’re not trusting this man, is there?”  
“He left the lantern for us.”  
You glance over at the light pooled under the door “Yeah, he did.”  
Now, did he do that out of kindness? Is he really just a harmless guy with an unfortunate face and no clue of how to behave in social situations? You’re not sure. The fact remains that he did happen to leave that lantern outside the door of a room that is stuffed with oil cans. That lantern is not coming in here.  
“What do we do?”  
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”  
“I wanna keep going to Adelaide’s so we can…you know.”  
“Get home.”  
“Uh-huh.”  
“What’s wrong, Dave?”  
He busies himself in the dresses “Nothing. I just want Karkat to wake up.”  
“Ok, well we gotta give Karkat some time to recover. He’s in a lot of pain, you know? He had a bad run of luck with those corn-people. We’ll keep going to Adelaide’s, though. Maybe he has to be asleep for a little while longer than that, but I promise if he hasn’t woken up before we get to her place, then we’ll stop somewhere and wait.”  
Dave bites his lip harder “Can we afford to wait?”  
Where did that come from? “What’s the big rush? Where do we have to be so urgent, huh?”  
“Roxy said we should get out before winter sets in.”  
Your heart skips a beat “Well she didn’t say that to me.”  
“Don’t sulk.”  
“I’m not sulking. When did she talk to you without talking to me?”  
“She just did. There was nothing creepy about it.”  
“If our trip’s got a time limit on it she woulda told me too.”  
It is possible that she just told Dave that to keep him motivated to move, to behave himself for you. Really, if it were an important piece of information that was going to keep the two of you from being trapped in the Unknown (and God, that makes you shiver to even phrase that thought in your head), then she would have told the big brother that’s running the show, not the little brother he’s toting around.  
You’re about to relay this to Dave when there’s a sudden, violent knock at the door. Both of you jump. The frog lets out an alarmed croak from Dave’s arms. Even Karkat stirs just a fraction. The light from the lantern shudders in a wind that sweeps, shrieking, through the hall and pushes a cold draft into the room. Dave lets out a frightened squeak and dives back into the relative safety of your arms.  
“They’re gonna get me again.”  
Quickly, you draw the knife “Nope. Not they’re not.”   
You don’t get the feeling there is something in the room with you. Wouldn’t there be footsteps appearing in the dust?   
“Stay here.”  
Leaving Dave on the bed with Karkat, you go to the door. The closer you get, the more you are aware of there being someone on the other side. This time, there aren’t shadows in the light where the intruder’s feet are. There isn’t anything physical, except for the presence. Just like with your closet. Man, you want your trusty bat back so badly right now.  
Another knock at the door. You jump, but keep going.   
“I’m coming.” you say “Hold on.”  
You summon your courage and open the door. The hall is, of course, empty, although you find yourself facing a patch of cold air that has about the dimensions of a tall person. A man, you would have to say. Again, you’re working with your experience of knowing how it feels to be menaced by adult men.   
“What do you want?”  
You toss the knife from hand to hand while you wait for an answer. You’re not sure if you’re showing off or just too nervous to hold it still.  
“I know you’re there.”  
Then, suddenly, it is not there. It is moving down the hallway.  
“C’mon Dave.”  
He shakes his head “I’m not moving.”  
“Dave,” you say sternly “Come on. You can’t stay here.”  
“I’m not going with you.”  
“I’m not leaving you alone-”  
A cold, huge hand locks around your wrist and starts to drag you down the hall. Dave watches you whipped out of his sight, but he doesn’t move. You attempt to stab the hand around you, but the knife passes through the air harmlessly. You want to call out to Dave, but what will Spades do if he thinks Dave is alone?  
Dave appears in the doorway and watches you go, his face pale with fright. You gesture for him to close the door and hold up your hand, to tell him you’ll be back in five minutes minimum.  
Meanwhile, the pushy ghost is dragging you across the hall.  
“I can walk!” you snap.   
It either doesn’t care or doesn’t hear you. The first, you’re betting.  
“Let go of me!”  
Again, it doesn’t listen to you.  
“Listen, I need to stay with my brother. He’s too little to protect himself.”  
Your pleas, threats and complaints fall on deaf (invisible) ears. No matter what you say, you can’t get the vice off of your arm. Neither can you find a purchase in the floorboards so you’re at least not being hauled around by the arm. This, too, is familiar. When you were younger, still too small to resist this kind of man-handling, your father would just drag you to your room or another room, like a closet, and lock you in if he didn’t want to look at you for a little while. You don’t know why he hasn’t tried to do it more recently. You may be getting close to 6ft tall now, but you probably wouldn’t struggle against him.  
Finally, the thing’s grip loosens. It has stopped you in front of a red wooden door. You try the knob, hoping it is locked. Your hopes are not in vain.   
“What do you want from -”  
The door swings wide open at your words; a clear demand.  
“Fucking…fine. But if you touch my brother…”  
You’ll do what? How the heck are you supposed to damage these things? You’ll grab Dave and jump out a window, that’s what you’ll do. But you let the threat hang.   
With a deep breath, you cross the threshold. Inside, it takes your eyes a moment to adjust. Suddenly, a candelabra filled with the stubs of several candles flares to life on a low table on the far wall. Solid trails and lakes of wax surround the candelabra. There are only a few centimetres of wick left, which means you don’t have much light or time with which to inspect the room. You’re not sure what it is you’re supposed to be staring at.  
So of course, the invisible source seizes you by the collar and turns you around, to face another wall. Cursing at it, you bat its hands away. But when you see what it wants you to see, your blood runs cold. A series of portraits- three of them, their canvases hanging from the frames, destroyed. They are such large paintings that at first you can’t quite tell what the ribbons are supposed to make up in their completion. To remedy this, you snatch up a poker from the cold fireplace and tug a few of the pieces up. A hand here. An eye there. The lapels of a suit. Eventually, you have pieced it together. Three men, ranging from thuggish to elegant. Arranged in height order, though you suspect this was not done on purpose. Each one wears an expression of slight shock, as if being painted is not something they every expected to have to endure, tempered with varying degrees of irritation or confusion or earnest, good-natured humour, from the smallest man.  
The message is clear to you, but just to drive the point home, the walls start to bleed again. The wood behind the portraits flushes red and throws off a strong scent of iron that you can also taste.   
“Oh shit.”  
“Oh shit,” echoes a voice behind you.  
Shortly after you register the voice in your ear, your world goes dark and you slip off into unconsciousness.


	20. Quick, flashback! While no one's looking!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes a POV from Karkat. The wonder. The horror. The confusion.

Your name is Dirk Strider and you’re twelve years old. His name is Dave. He’s four years old. He’s been too small for you to be worried out up until now, but he’s getting too big. He can walk and talk close to fluently, although his speech isn’t the best. He knows what his favourite foods are and can ask for the bathroom, knows how to use the TV remote, and most importantly, how to talk back to your father.  
In all of his four years, he hasn’t had that much time to collect wisdom of the adult world. Since you were his age, you have learned through tough love and other equally painful techniques that the world doesn’t have to be nice to you, just because you’re young and you try to be nice to it. People are cruel for no reason. Not just people, either, but your father. Dave may be old enough to wake you up by jumping into your bed at 6 a.m. and demanding Cheerio’s, but he isn’t quite old enough to notice how afraid of your only remaining parent you are.  
Because he isn’t scared enough, he isn’t careful. Taking liberties, talking back, eating more than he’s told he can have…he can’t get away with this stuff for much longer. As much as it pains you to think about, you have to find some way of protecting him. In the blackness that settles on your brain every morning, at the thought of another day in this household, sometimes a little ray of light will pierce the gloom, making it easier to get out of bed. Watching Dave stand up to your father without even being aware that he is doing it makes your day. It gives you something to smile about, and God knows you need that. Jake is great and he makes you feel awesome whenever you’re together (you’ll have to tell him that soon, and see what happens), but you can’t rely on him alone to get you smiling.  
If your father gets his way, Dave won’t be doing this for too much longer. Already you can sense that he is preparing himself for it. Psyching himself up to hit his youngest son for the first time. There was a lot of tears and blood in your case. You don’t think he meant to knock your loose tooth out, the first time he hit you. But he did. You got blood on the carpet as well as a lot of tears and a bit of spit. Of course, he made you clean it all up. If Dave happens to drool blood on the floor, your father will not let you help him.  
So you’ve gotta make sure nothing like that ever happens.  
You find him in the garage. The hood of the car is up and he has a screwdriver in hand, digging at something within the guts of the engine. In your hands, you yourself are holding a knife.  
“Hey.”  
He looks up at you “What?”  
Your arm hangs at your side, the knife held only loosely. It is not so unusual for a Strider to walk around armed, so he thinks nothing of it, at the moment.  
“Listen. I don’t care what you do to me. I don’t care how much you hit me or starve me or whatever the hell it is you’re going to do, but leave Dave out of it.”  
You mean to just plough on through this little speech, but of course he interrupts you.  
The scorn in his voice is almost the same as having a cigarette stubbed out on your skin (he stopped doing that after he quit smoking, when Dave turned two years old) “What is this, kiddo? Are you coming over here and telling me how to run my family?”  
“Family?” the word just sound so stupid coming out of his mouth “We’re not your family. We’re just your sons.”  
He acts as if he has lost interest and returns to the insides of the car, but you can tell you have irritated him “That’s right. You kids are mine. No one else’s. No one else is gonna show you how to make it in life, you understand? No one else cares.”  
You can feel him chipping away at your resolve. Better to just get through this fast.  
“Well you know what, Bro? I have my suspicions that I don’t fucking need you to survive. I think if I hit the streets I could make it on my own and get somewhere safe and live where I didn’t have to worry about getting my teeth knocked out. In fact, I woulda run the hell away already but then Dave happened. I’m not stupid. I know he can’t survive on the streets. He’s not strong, like you made me. Not yet. So yeah, I’ve gotta stay and I’m gonna stay for his sake, but there’s gonna be some conditions from now on.”  
At this moment, you lift the knife. Your father observes it like a teacher looks at a hideous crayon drawing of their student’s, trying to seem interested or amused.  
“You’re going to stab me?” he spreads his arms, like an embrace “I hope you remember where the vital points are.”  
“Sure do.”   
Positioning the knife about where your stomach is, you lock eyes with him. This is the first time you have ever felt able to see past his shades, to his actual eyes “This is how it works. If I find out that you’re hitting Dave or starving Dave or even fucking scaring Dave, I’m gonna go to school one day with a knife in my bag. I’ll stab myself in the stomach and raise a giant fucking stink on the way to the hospital about how I don’t want to see you ever again. The hospital will check me into a psych ward and hook me up with some suicide counsellor and all that shit and they’re gonna find out what drove me to this act of bat-shit insanity. Then they’ll take me away and Dave away and you’ll go to prison. If and when you get out, me and Dave will have changed our names and we’ll be in another country by then. Probably as grown men by then. You’ll never see us ever again, understand?”  
Your father stares at you. You stare back, your skin prickling with nerves and imagined cigarette burns.  
After a while, he looks away and mumbles “You think you’re some hot shit, don’t you?”  
Lowering the knife, you let out a long, shuddering breath “Yeah, well, who did I learn that from?”  
You leave him the garage and the knife in the block, where it returns. Dave is sitting on the floor of the living room in front of a bright, raucous children’s show. Ignoring his chirps of protest, you scoop him up and deposit him in your lap. For the rest of the morning, you are just content to hold your little brother while the TV shrieks about the alphabet.  
You think you can make this work.

Your name is Dirk Strider and, despite the impending doom you are almost certain of, you are unwilling to wake up yet.  
So for now, we will chose another perspective which has yet to be exercised.

 

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas.  
The name is a fucking curse. Time upon time you have wished- screamed abuse to the various heavens and hells over this little technicality- that you could have a different name, and a family to go with it. What you have at the moment can barely be classed as an intelligent form of existence, let alone qualified to act as family.  
“Karkat!” calls Porrim “I asked for that water about an hour ago!”  
You straighten up from the garden, seething “Porrim! Might I remind you that you are literally standing right fucking next to a river?”  
Porrim glances at the river beside the wheel of the mill, considering its sparkling surface “Karkat! Might I remind you that all manner of small, slimy pests breed and fornicate in that water? It is for swimming, not for putting into our bodies. Now, fetch big sister a glass of water from the well.”  
In desperation, you beseech the open window of your father’s study “DAAAD! PORRIM’S BEING A LAZY ASS!”  
His reply is faint, punctuated by the whir of sheets turning “Karkat, do what your sister tells you. She’s the big one. She’s in charge.”  
In anger, you kick at a pumpkin and mutter “Age isn’t an indication of wisdom. It just tells you how much closer you are to the sweet, chapped lips of Death’s kiss.”  
As you weave out of the garden towards the well, you pass your other, slightly less intolerable big sister. Kanaya is busy separating the weeds from the new shoots. As you pass, she hooks a gloved and dirty finger in the collar of your sleeve and tugs you to the ground. Cursing, you nearly fall over backwards into a patch of squash. You manage to save yourself by grabbing the long stem of an amazingly stubborn weed, which pulls you back on balance.  
“What the hell happened to ‘psssst’, Kanaya?” you demand.  
She beams at you from underneath her sunhat. Her smile actually manages to lower the temperature and refuses to reach her eyes “I would appreciate it if you and Porrim would refrain from antagonising each other like this. Frankly, I can barely tolerate another moment of it. If you and Porrim don’t stop baiting and teasing each other, I shall be forced to push you both down the well and you can rest assured that father will not notice for several days, at least.”  
You swallow hard “Fuck off.”  
Kanaya raises her spade. You throw your arms up in front of your face, snivelling, thinking she’s about to make a swipe at your nose. Instead, she uses the tip to loosen a rock from the soil.  
“Be off with you,” she says “I’m about to read Porrim the same riot act and I would appreciate it if you would make space for her.”  
She points towards the well. You walk off, muttering about bad luck and stupid sisters and the stupid brothers that put them in moods. This is all Kankri’s fault. Most of the fugs cast on your family tend to be Kankri’s fault. You never thought you might be nostalgic for the days when people were pissed off because of Kankri’s inability to shut his mouth once it gets cranked open and starts spewing the flowery approximation of opinions. After living with him for the last 17 years, you can honestly say you’re not familiar with a single one of his political views. Not really. He could be advocating for the extermination of witches everywhere and you would never know, because now, as a kind of defence mechanism, your brain switches off to save itself from losing mass to sheer boredom whenever your brother opened his mouth.  
The problem right now has to do with the place that he moved to. Fucking Pottsfield. You let out a tiny roar and kick a pinecone two feet in front of you. Not far enough. The propulsion of the pinecone must be in proportion to your fire-like rage! With this in mind, you kick at the pinecone so hard it sails into the canopy of green overhead and disappears. Your shoe follows it, but returns to the earth a moment later and narrowly misses conking you on the forehead. With the reflexes of someone who is used to dodging projectiles (when you and Porrim fight physically, you throw stuff), you dodge to the right.   
Look at what Kankri has made of you! A cone-kicking, shoe-losing moron on his belly in the forest, wanting to kick the shit out of his family! Ok, so that last thing isn’t a new thing, but the ferocity of the desire to eat your sisters whole and kick your father ass-first into the river has increased significantly since Kankri absconded.   
The problem is, Kankri is dead. You set about pulling your boot back on.  
Everyone in Pottsfield was declared officially, subjectively dead from now on, early last week. When people speak of the Pottsfielders, they now speak of Enoch and his crew in the past tense. Actually, it is common knowledge that the illustrious, gigantic Mayor of Pottsfield fucked off, maypole and ribbons and pumpkin and all, long before the current troubles that have eaten Pottsfield up began. Perhaps he saw this coming? It was only three or so days before Damara Megido came back with the illness. The testimony of what was to destroy Pottsfield was obtained through several letters back home to family, including Kankri’s. Your father edited Kankri’s ten page letter heavily before handing it over, both for the sake of length and for the sake of family privacy.  
Kankri mentioned as a sort of footnote (the fact that he wasn’t talking about it tells you he was fucking terrified of the prospect of this) that he was probably going to end up marrying a childhood friend, Cronus Ampora. You knew only vaguely of Cronus –his father was the Ferryman, he had a little brother that went missing forever ago (you’re betting he was kidnapped to be a familiar or something like that), but when Kanaya and Porrim heard this, they were so over the moon about the idea of Cronus being added to the family that they barely noticed the bit about Damara Megido getting sick and infecting others.   
Now Kankri is dead, and your family isn’t quite sure of how to process this.  
“Fuck that guy to hell. I hate him.” you mutter, feeling the burn of salt-water in your eyes.   
You really hate him for the loop he threw this family into. The polite thing to do, when you’re about to break off contact from the outside world to die in pain and agony quietly, is to at least warn your family so they’ve got the time to make some emotional adjustments. But nooooooo, Kankri couldn’t wait to die off and leave you here, with them. Once again, you’re the only person in your family with white hair and red eyes. At least with Kankri you didn’t stand out so much. There were two side-show attractions to gawk at.  
Now? Well, right now you wish that pinecone would come back and take its medicine.  
You need something new to brood about. With the well in sight, you pause to listen to the amicable chatter of your sisters (loaded with threat of death and sabotage, no doubt) and the rustle of leaves and soil. The turning of the mill wheel in the water. The distant barking of the dog, as it runs around the insides of your house in a futile attempt to find the front door and let itself out (man it is a stupid dog) so it can chase small animals through the under-brush. You wish your father would make some kind of noise to add to the mix. Ordinarily, he would be singing in his study (he sings while he works, because fucking humming or whistling, the man must have words with his inane tunes) or outside, laughing with his daughters and keeping the mood light.   
But for obvious reasons, he has withdrawn. He’s quiet. He has almost forgotten he’s got three other children.  
Once, your father did a great thing for the Unknown. This substance called Grist was destroying infrastructure, the roads, people’s lives and their already tenuous grasps on reality. Like the bumbling asshole he is, he accidentally dove head-first into the problem and came very, very close several times to making orphans of the four children he had at home. But because he is your father- and your father can do anything once he puts his throbbing, giant mind to it- he surfaced. He came home, or rather, back to the Inn, covered in Edelwood oil with this mildly disturbed look on his face like he’d been slapped by someone he didn’t know very well.  
“That should do it,” he said, and spat out a single Edelwood leaf (he wasn’t turning, he had just somehow gotten one in his mouth) “I’ve destroyed all the Grist, I think. Would it be too much to ask if someone could fetch me some bandages and a root beer?”  
You wonder if the man that’s locked in his study is how he was when he was eradicating the Grist, taking on witches and worse all over the Unknown. Obsessive and almost ignoring his family? It wouldn’t be so bad if Porrim weren’t in charge. You’re thinking of starting a mutiny. You’ve got no weapons, aside from a fork, but you’re creative when you’re mad and Porrim is making you so mad these days that you almost can’t talk to her- your traitorous tongue butchers clever threats into a string of shuddering, angry syllables, which in turn makes you wave your spindly arms in frustration, so you look like a small spider have an incoherent fit.  
Turning the crank mounted in the side, you bring up a brimming bucket of water. It would be easier if the well was next to the house, so that way you didn’t have to put on some shoes and brave the night whenever you wanted a drink of water at night. There’s a pitcher out for the nights, but your sisters usually guzzle that down before you can get near enough to sniff it. But this well existed before the house did. It belonged to some family with a whole lot more kids than this one, but they moved out for some reason. Left you a working mill. These days, that wheel just turns on cheerfully, making these horrifying creaks that wake you up in the middle of the night and make you think there’s an assassin creeping through the hall. They left suddenly, so some of their dusty, cracked old possessions are still mixed in with yours.  
As far as you can tell, the whole family had an insatiable fetish for blue and blue-birds. Funnily enough, they disappeared around the same time that the First Beast went as well. The Unknown is full of the despair that fuels the Beast and its trees, though, and another one was quick to spring up after it. Another Woods-Whatever too. You’re still not sure if this one is supposed to be a woman, a man, or that confusing gender in between that half of the population of any place will stubbornly claim isn’t even a thing (the fools).  
Well if the Woods-Thing is a Woods-They, then more power to them.  
You draw the sloshing bucket to your chest and prepare yourself to walk back to the house, teetering on the edge of your nerves because you don’t want to spill a drop but the handle is absolutely chewing into your fingers. You look up, to scan the path for some obstacles as you walk around the well, and see that you have some company.  
If you hadn’t just been ordering yourself mentally to not let go of the bucket if your life depended on it, you might drop it.  
The light of the lantern crawls over you. Wherever it touches your pale skin, it feels sickly and burned, as if by fire or fever. Your lungs have decided that it’s a good idea to seal up instead of open up so you can scream for help. And as for the rest of your body, it’s just kind of hanging out. Like, hey look at that, it’s the Woods-Thing, should we run or just sort stare?  
You want to run.  
The Woods-Thing, a Woods-Woman, surveys you in the flickering light of her lantern, which seems to somehow be out-shining the sun. For a long, excruciating moment, the two of you just stare at each other.  
Then she says: “I’m here to see your father.” and breezes past you.  
Finally, you’re the tense muscles in your arm loosen up. You drop the bucket.

 

 

Your name is Dirk Strider. Are you ready to be conscious again, Dirk Strider? You should be warned: it’s not going to be pretty. Sure?  
Alright, here we go.


	21. One of the only cases where arson is an acceptable solution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nine pages. That's all I'm saying.

Your name is Dirk Strider, and there’s a rope around your neck. Your immediate instinct is to claw at the rope, but you find that you can’t move your hands. They are bound behind your back with tight, painful knots that have already made your wrists slick with blood. The cuts are not deep or very bad, as far you can tell, but they are fucking painful.  
You’re on the floor, you think. On your side. On the cold, hard ground. Stone is leeching the warmth out of your body. At first you think something is over your eyes, then you realise that there is just something IN your eye, and only one of them. The other one must have shut too to accommodate the other one. It’s a lot of dried blood, going by the feel of it. That’s fine. This isn’t the first time your father has knocked you flat, with a cut on your head that bled unchecked into your eye.  
Wait.  
Hold on.  
Wait a second, you’re not at home. Where in your home is there a cold stone floor? This doesn’t feel like the garage. And why would he tie you up?  
Aaaaand now it’s all coming back and now, now you are certain that you are in serious trouble.  
Ok, review the facts, you think. There were a series of events that led up to you being prostrated on the floor like this. Think.  
The house. The peacock. The things in the front hall and the blood everywhere and that man- that strange, scary man whom you never should have trusted because he was just sweating ill will like an onion sweats its stinging juices. The thing that knocked on the door and the thing that took you to the room, while Dave watched stubbornly from the confines of the room’s relative safety and Karkat slept on, probably getting closer and closer to whatever kind of death people like him experience in this world with every second he spent unconscious.  
God, you never thought about that. If he doesn’t have to sleep, then what has he been doing as you carried him this whole time- no, never mind, not a priority.  
The priority is what has just occurred to you: if you’re here and Karkat is passed out, then who the hell is protecting Dave?  
“LET ME GO!”  
The sound of his voice hits you like ice water.  
Your eyes fly open. Immediately, fresh blood pours into your left eye and blinds you. Blinking hard, you scrape your eyes against the ball of your shoulder and manage to get a good look at what’s going on.  
The man stands a few dozen feet in front of you. He has Dave by the collar, holding him as a hunter might hold the cub of a tiger it has just shot. The confusion on his flat features might be endearing in another situation, but for now, you just want to rip his throat out with your teeth. Dave struggles. The frog is even struggling, at the man’s feet, letting out this long, rasping croak like a siren sounding an approaching storm as it butts its head ineffectually against the man’s leg. The man stands in front of a banister, at the top of a narrow staircase.   
The rope that is attached to your neck is also attached to the banister. It takes a moment of thinking, of looking around the gloomy hallway to figure out you must be at the top of a spiral staircase that spans every single story the house has to offer. The man must mean to hang you. Keeping one eye on Dave, you edge over and slump your back against the banister to look down. The fall that unfurls in front of you will not only break your neck, but probably completely behead you.  
The only advantage you can think of is the fact that Dave doesn’t have a rope around his neck, which must mean…  
The man lifts Dave up and hangs him over the drop.  
“NO!”  
Your lip splits open with the force of your scream. Dave stops wriggling and shouting. The man freezes and looks over at you. Dave wraps his arms around the banister and clings, not a second after the man drops his collar and lets his weight fall. You nearly scream again, thinking he’s going to slip at fall. But he hangs on.  
“Leave him alone. This is on me.”  
Whatever it is the man thinks you have done or are going to do to him, you have to make sure he thinks it’s all on you. It’s getting hard to speak past the heart in your mouth, but you push on, surprised by the lack of tears to blur your reddened vision.  
“It’s all me,” you say slowly, emphatically. You have to make him understand “I plotted this. Him? He’s no one. He’s just a kid. I thought it would make me look more innocent to have one with me.”  
The man’s face is slow to register thoughts, but you can tell he’s thinking quickly. In your experience, people like this don’t think they’re bad. Your father doesn’t think of himself as anything but an avenging angel of justice raising two more. So if you can just convince him that Dave’s nothing to him or to you, he’ll let him walk away.  
Dave’s hands shake as he pulls himself up so that his chin is resting on the edge of the floor. Unwilling to break eye contact with the man (Spades, his name is Spades), you have to trust him to start inching his way over to where the stairs begin. He has a long way to go before he can reach the stairs, where he will be able to swing over and plant his feet on solid ground, but you know he can. He has to. The frog jumps along to offer encouragement.  
You manage to pull yourself up to your knees, kneeling in front of him. You can’t quite straighten up against the bonds, though, so you are almost doubled over where you sit. Spades looms over you. Beyond him, you can see a door that must lead up to the roof or something, going by how high up you are. A glance out the window nearby tells you that you may be dying as the sun begins to rise, which would be a shitty way to start the day.  
“You came like the rest. For the house. The wealth,” accuses the man, his voice suddenly full of a practiced venom.  
He must have stood at this exact spot and delivered the same speech over and over again.  
“Yes, yes I did.” you confirm. Maybe not the smartest thing to do, but you seriously doubt you have a chance of lying your way out of this at this point. Not with the rope about your neck “Just like…just like your friends.”  
Spade’s dead-fish eyes flash in either pain or anger.  
“Your partners,” you try “In crime.”  
“They never worked like I did. In fact, I did all the fucking work. I did it all, so why should I have to share the profits?”  
You shake your head, your hair falling across your eyes so now it is only Spade’s legs and feet you can see as he approaches “It’s not about who does the work, though. It’s about who’s smart enough to keep their hands on the money, right?”  
Spades nods slowly “Well I was smart enough and I was the one that did all the work.”  
“Good for you.”  
Dave has made slow, pain-staking progress past two of the bars in the banister. There is a slew more he must get past, but he’s so scared he can barely move in the first place. You’ve got to give him more time.  
“Who keeps telling you people to come?” spits Spades “Every week, I get people like you in here. So many of them are pretending to be lost or travelling or hiding or seeking shelter from the storms. You people must think I’m some kind of chump. Listen, I know the score. I know how it works in your tiny minds. I know, you know, I’m living in a goldmine. But listen here, sport, I earned this. No one is gonna take this away from me. You wanna take this away from me? You wanna make me see the error of my ways? Well guess what, there ain’t no error. I’m what’s right. I got this ‘cos I worked for it and I never had any help from my fucking partners, no matter the things they told you,” his eyes suddenly narrow suspiciously “What did they tell you?”  
Your mind works a mile and minute to keep him happy. His partners. You were dumped right in front of their slashed portraits.   
“They didn’t tell me much,” you dance around his question “They only gave us a scare in the front hall, me and the kid.”  
“The bleeding walls!” snaps Spades “I know about the bleeding walls! They always do that! They’re always trying to bad mouth me, but you know how many times that’s worked? Twice. Only two people have ever run away from that! The rest of them are too dumb and greedy to run away!”  
“Your partners didn’t run away, did they?”  
His face grows clouded with anger “They wouldn’t leave me alone. Every day, it was the same ol’ stream of shit about how much I needed help. My ol’ lady too. All four of those fucking morons just yapping down my ear, day in, day out. A man expects certain rights in his own household, you understand? And a man should expect to be able to mete out punishment when those expectations ain’t met.”  
You nod slowly “I understand. I really do. You’re right, you do deserve to be in charge, after all the work you did for this place. And people just don’t appreciate that, do they?” you lick your dry lips and taste the salt of your own blood “I gotta be honest, man. I came in here and I just wanted to take everything I saw, but…I got so much respect for what you did here.”  
He stops in his tracks. If it’s possible, his face grows even darker. But at least you’ve got him thinking, suspecting you, looking for a flaw in the shit you’re feeding him. That gives Dave more time and he’s almost close enough to swing his feet over to the stairs.  
“I ain’t never heard that one before.”  
“No, I’m serious,” you insist, forcing what you hope is a fawning smile to your mouth. Each word is like a shard of glass forcing its way up your throat, and the rope seems to grow tighter with every one “You’re holding onto it all, against all the odds. Is it hard to do?”  
“Of course it fucking is! I got chumps like you coming in here every week, trying to take what’s mine! And I’ve got a front hall jammed full of ghosts! Those bastards- they’re too scared of me to do big damage, but fuck, are they a fucking nuisance. Every time someone comes here they drag them to those portraits. You know, it got to the point where I gotta just wait in that fucking room for people to show up? And they don’t care about you, you know. They do it every single time like they think one of you is gonna get away. Look, look out the window.”  
He jabs a finger towards the rain-fogged glass, at the grounds beyond. Following his finger, you see him pointing to a clutch of patches of grass shot through with dirt. Recently disturbed, each one about the size of the average human, apart from a handful of smaller graves. A cold, stabbing panic threatens to blank out all forms of rationality from your mind, but you won’t let it. After all the time you’ve spent fighting for your life in this insane place, and at home, your will to fight isn’t something that will fade out or turn off anymore.  
You just can’t stop trying at it, even though you know at this point you are basically dead.  
All you’ve got is a chance to get Dave out alive.  
“You’re gonna bury me out there?” you guess.  
“Yeah, you and…” a flicker of concern passes across Spade’s face. For a second, you are terrified that he’s about to notice Dave again. You strain at the bindings around your wrists and, amazingly, they slip just a little. Just enough to start wriggling free.  
“You’re going right there,” he points again, at a small space between two adult-sized graves “I’ll make it shallow. The peacocks are getting hungry again.”  
You manage to get one finger loose, and immediately set about freeing the rest of the hand with your fingernail “Alright. I sure can respect that.”  
Spades crouches in front of you “You do realise, son, that you got a noose around your neck. I ain’t never seen somebody thanking the man that’s about to kill them.”  
“You’ll see some more like me and you can bet on it. There’s a lot of us that think you’re the best thing since sliced bread.”  
Over his shoulder, you see Dave grab for the banister. His hand slips. The frog lets out a strangled croak of alarm as Dave scrambles for his grip again. It takes every modicum of willpower in you not to scream his name, but as he attaches himself firmly again, you begin to relax.   
He can do this. You can do this.  
“Why?” asks Spades irritably.  
“Why not? You know what you’re doing here. You were a legend before this and you’re still a legend now, just in a different way.” you offer, trying to sound as certain as you can be.  
Spades grabs a length of rope and uses it to draw you close to him, so you can smell the dust on his breath. As he drags you closer you are pricked in the thigh by something very sharp. No, not pricked, sliced open. Oh shit, he didn’t, did he? Spades left the fucking knife in your pocket. You realise this at the exact moment that your hand comes free.  
“You expect me to believe-” he says, as you stab him in the shoulder.   
“That shit.” he finishes.  
It takes him a few seconds to register the knife in his shoulder. The blade did not manage to get very deep- one, because you only had one hand, and two, because you have never actually pushed a knife into flesh before. It has always been in ‘training’.  
He strikes you. You fall back.   
“This is how it is?” he roars, his voice tinged with pain “You talk all sweet so you can stab me?”  
Dave is protesting in the background at the top of his voice. Spades turns around, still on his knees, and you force yourself upright to wrench the knife out of his shoulder. When he struck you and forced you on your back, you took the opportunity to free your other hand from the ropes.  
Again, he roars. You bring the knife up to your throat, dragging yourself backwards, and cut the noose in two. It falls away and you gasp. Your throat expands in a panic to accommodate the sudden rush of air.  
Spades falls on you. Like every bad action sequence that has ever been filmed, the knife is knocked from your hands. You hear it clatter onto the stairs below. Spades hangs over you. His hands are around your throat, tightening.  
Now, this is familiar. You know there’s nothing to do but struggle and buck underneath him as much as you can until you black out, which isn’t going to be too long. Oh well. And fuck, does it still hurt, even though this is about the fifth time it has happened to you since you turned thirteen.  
Your vision blurs. A sudden flare of light and a rushing, freezing sensation tells you these are your last few seconds. You can’t do anything, really, but squirm under the tonnes of weight on top of you.  
Spade’s blood is hot on your mouth and neck. A vein bulges in his neck. His face is slowly turning a brutal shade of purple.  
Your vision blacks out. At the same time, he soars off of you with a pained grunt.  
“Karkat!” shouts Dave.  
“Stand back!” barks Karkat.  
Coughing, you put your back to the wall. Your vision swims and blurs, but you can make out Karkat grappling with Spades. He’s got a length of rope around his neck and he’s wrapping it around the huge man’s neck over and over. Your bruised throat chokes back any attempt at a scream or any kind of talking. All you can do is watch.   
Karkat grabs Spades by the scruff of his shirt and bends him over the banister. Spades kicks back at him again and again, but Karkat doesn’t care.  
The rope is wrapped so tightly around Spades’ neck, he can hardly move. Karkat now has him folded in half over the banister. He gives the man one final, powerful shove and the body drops out of sight. From the stairs, Dave watches in horror. You get on your knees and crawl over to the banister as a scream fills the air.  
“Dave-” you manage.  
“Close your eyes!” orders Karkat.  
Dave covers his eyes with his hands, but it doesn’t save him from hearing the snap of Spades’ neck. The bar in the banister that the rope was tied to snaps in half, sending up a spray of splinters.  
You look down. Three floors down, through the centre of the spiral staircase, you can see an expanding pool of blood surrounding a broken body. That’s about all you can handle.  
You reach out, either for Dave or Karkat.  
Karkat gets on his knees and puts his arms around you.  
“Are you ok?”  
“Not my first time getting choked out,” you rasp.  
Behind you, the door that leads out to the roof is open and banging on its hinges.  
“I’m so sorry,” Karkat mutters “I didn’t get here fast enough.”  
“S’fine. I’m fine.”  
Dave materialises at your side and pushes his face into your chest. You wind an arm around him too and squeeze. Karkat tangles a hand in his hair, saying something soft and comforting that you don’t catch.

“…so of course I flipped my shit when I realised that both of you warm bodies had fucked off into the depths of this murder mansion.”  
Karkat slops a little more oil onto the floorboards, ushering Dave backwards with his other hand. He still moves slowly from the ache of his injuries, but has assured you that he does not intend to fall unconscious again. You have tried to help him with spreading the oil, but both Dave and Karkat repeatedly told you to sit down until finally, Dave sat on you to keep you down. Now Karkat is oiling up the very last staircase- the one that you first bolted up when the invisible force grabbed Dave. As of yet, there have been no random ghosts snatching at your brother or your bird, so you’re ok with being here for the moment. Honestly, you’re more afraid that the peacock and its friends will be waiting for you beyond the door.  
“I’m sorry.” you say flatly, unable to think of anything else to say.  
Karkat turns the oil drum on its head as the last few drops ooze from the neck “I swear to the gods, if you say that to me one more time I will jam your head so far up your ass you’ll have to shout to make yourself heard. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want it from your mouth or anyone else’s.” he follows this up with a very stern look at Dave, as if he knows exactly what he is plotting.  
“Can we go now?” asks Dave, for the fifteenth time in five minutes.  
“Can you not ask me that again? I am literally going down the stairs right now. I swear, I’m gonna make you stay here if you ask me that again.”  
Karkat offers you a hand up. You rise, stiff and pained, and let Karkat guide you to the door. Dave clings to your free hand, croaking back at the frog in his shirt. The three of you pause at the door.  
“Anyone got a match?” you ask, unable to hide a grin “We thought this out, didn’t we?”  
Karkat smacks his forehead “Fucking hell!”  
“Oh my gosh!” adds Dave, pointing at the top of the stairs.  
You and Karkat watch in a faint horror as the door swings open and a lantern floats out. It hangs in empty space for a moment, at about the height you imagine it would be if a fairly large man were holding it over his head.  
“Hi,” says Dave pleasantly “Are you the thingie that grabbed me? We got rid of the weirdo for you. They did most of the work.”  
Karkat covers Dave’s mouth.  
The lantern smashes itself on the ground a second later. The small fire that was contained within the glass compartment shatters with a gust of cold air and the sound of a hair-raising, broken scream that makes your hair stand on end. The cold air rockets past you and blows the doors open, making the hinges shriek in pain. Karkat’s hair is blown back and your shades are pushed all the way up your nose. The two of you turn after the wind and stare, again, slightly horrified, as the twisting current of cold air morphs into something like a body, or a dirty grey light, clawing at the air even as it rises towards the steely clouds and into the rain.   
Karkat moves his hand from Dave’s mouth to his eyes. The screaming grey light is sucked backwards into the clouds. It disappears with one final, brutal shriek that makes your ears ring.  
“Holy shit,” breathes Karkat “He was one of the Beast’s bitches.”  
“Hey, there’s a fire.” you note “Spreading quick. Can we talk about this on the lawn?”  
Karkat ushers you into the rain. Realising he has no coat of his own, only the simple, summer clothes you first saw him in which will do little against the rain, you open yours and tuck him under your arm, ignoring his complaints. The fire is moving fast, eating up the oil you have spread for it. You are afraid that the water leaking into the front hall might prevent this section of the house from burning as well, but you and Karkat have spread tracks of oil all over the bottom half of the house. The main, broad corridor is drenched with it. All of it. While you were working with Karkat, or trying to, you mused aloud that you might be finishing someone’s half-done work, by burning the rest of the house.  
Now you know you’re right. Standing on the lawn, again, facing the half-burnt house as the lights of a fire begin to fill the windows, you know that someone has tried to destroy this place before. Many different times, with many different people who didn’t necessarily know what they were doing.   
“Look.” Dave points at the topmost window, which you now know was the attic room from which Spades was going to hang you. And was hanged, himself.  
There’s a light in it again. Not yet from the fire, but the flames have already climbed to the second set of stairs, so it will not be long before the light is filled with bright oranges and red. But for now, it is pale candle-light. You can make out a bulky silhouette, pressing itself to the window.  
Karkat swallows nervously and squirms a little under your arm.  
“I hate that guy.”  
You look to the side.  
Somehow, three men have materialised next to you so quietly that you don’t even notice a presence beside you until you are looking at them. Three of them, like their portraits, arranged in height order. They’re all clad in identical suits. Kind of like the stuff your father wears to work when he has to have a meeting. Each one of them has been slashed by a knife. The biggest one almost to ribbons. None of them are bleeding from the numerous slashes all over their bodies, making their clothes hang in rags, nor do they seem the slightest bit bothered by the massive amount of pain they should be in.   
As one, you and Karkat inch away from them. Dave peers around your legs, unsure if he should be shy or scared.  
“Look at him. What a fucker,” the one in the middle flips the bird to the upper window “Fuck him. We’re free now, ain’t we? What about him?”  
The bigger one glances up at the sky, roughly where that screaming grey light disappeared “I think that was his soul zipping off into the ether just then, yeah? I betcha that’s a shade in the window. Ain’t no ghost.”  
“Even if it is a ghost,” pipes up the little one “He’s trapped here either way. Why should we care? Fuck him. We’re finally free.”  
“After about fifty people!” snaps Karkat.  
From the look on his face, he’s surprised even himself. The three men turn and stare at him.  
Now that he’s got the spotlight, Karkat is happy to rant, spitting out rain as he goes “How many people did you go through, trying to get rid of him? That graveyard over there, would that be so fucking full if you geniuses hadn’t been snagging every poor, dumb fucker that strolled by to take care of YOUR own fucking problems?! What kind of bastards are you? Did you seriously think you needed to drag two fucking CHILDREN into this situation? One of them can’t even take care of himself on his own!”  
Karkat clamps a hand on Dave’s head and presses his face furiously to his side. Dave windmills his arms in an attempt to get away, but it doesn’t work. You sort of just stand there while Karkat deafens you in one ear.  
“Do you have any idea how afraid of this place people are? I mean, the people who know about it? The towns around this place, they don’t even let their kids out during the day in case they wander near the Midnight Manor! You people are a fucking scourge!”  
The men stare at him dispassionately, then exchange a few tired glances among each other.  
“Yeah, we were selfish. We earned it, I think.” says the middle one.  
“Somebody had to get rid of him,” insists the tall one “He was off his rocker. Even if we hadn’t been bringing people in to get rid of him, he woulda gone, right? People like him don’t wait around for trouble. I mean, sure, once the fucker knew trouble was coming for him, but he woulda killed plenty of folks once he left the manor-”  
“I’m seven years old.” says Dave.  
All eyes fall on him and he doesn’t even wilt.  
Instead, he tries out a cuss, like he is sampling an interesting new flavour “I’m seven years old. You almost got me killed. Fuck you. I’m happy that you guys are free now and you get to pass on or whatever, but seriously. I’m only seven. You scared the crap out of me and hurt me and then you got my brother hurt and then I had to get dragged up to the attic while he was dragging my brother and just telling me how much I deserved to die. I’m only seven years old.”  
With that, Dave turns on his heel and marches for the gate. The men stare after him. What irks you is that they only look surprised- not the slightest bit guilty or ashamed. Just surprised at the sass that just came out of your little brother’s mouth.  
“You heard him, Dirk. Let’s move.”  
Karkat helps you limp after your brother. You try to pass the graveyard without looking at it, but you can’t help noticing a peacock scratching at the dirt, and pecking into a little hole in one of the freshly-turned dirt beds. You walk a little faster. Dave pushes the gates open a little and squeezes through. Karkat makes you go after him, and shuts the door behind him with one more venomous look at the men on the lawn.  
You look too, but by the time you have found where they stood in the gloom, they are already gone. Now, it is only what they called a shade in the window that remains. Staring out at the ruins of his kingdom as it burns beneath him.

“I’m not going to argue with you. I’m gonna tell you what’s gonna happen and you’re gonna smile and nod and tell me how smart I am. Understand?”  
You shake your head “I don’t need to sleep.”  
“Think about Dave, then, you selfish prick. Now lay down.”  
Karkat quickly took charge after you left the manor. Since he knew the way, you just kind of deferred to his wisdom and followed him blindly. It was dark. You were tired. Your throat felt as if it had a collar of iron around it. If Karkat wanted to be in charge he could be in charge.  
It is only now that you feel as if you should argue. After walking for about an hour, he has turned off the road and found a small, ferny clearing. At the base of a wide, gnarled tree was a dry and sandy hollow free of bugs or anything damp and gross. Dave and Karkat caught sight of it at the same time, exchanged a glance, and made a bee-line for it. You held back, transfixed by the patterns in the tree’s bark. It wore an anguished, yet stern expression, as if it could not believe you and your boys were about to be so dumb as to fall asleep underneath it.  
“This isn’t safe,” you insist “We should keep moving. We’re not that far from the ferry, right? We could get there before morning.”  
“Right, but you had a big day, mister. Lay the fuck down.”  
Dave has already curled up in the soft grass that floors the hollow. He doesn’t seem to care about the belly of the tree arching over his head. Nor does he seem to care about the roar of the wind all around, nor the strange calls of the night animals. Karkat sits beside him, leaving a space for you next to Dave.  
You want to lay down so badly, but you can’t make yourself do it. It’s just too stupid- sleeping out in the open. You repeat this sentiment to Karkat.  
His face softens just a little “Dirk, I know what I’m doing. I don’t sleep, but sometimes I have to rest, and I always have to do that as a human. You know this is an Edelwood we’re under?”  
You nod.  
“Think about it. Does a predator ever hunt in the bones of its last prey? And what kind of idiot approaches a kill of an animal like this? Just trust me, please.”  
His voice is so weary by the end of it, you can do nothing but agree. You lie down beside Dave. Your brother wraps his arms around your neck, like he used to do when he was still young enough to think of it as ok to get in bed with you.  
Karkat sits up for a little while longer. For a minute you think he’s keeping some kind of look-out, then he leans back against the tree trunk and shuts his eyes.  
Dave notices too “Hey, you lay down too. I’m freezing.”  
“I’m fine.”  
Dave tugs insistently on Karkat’s thin sleeve until he obeys.   
“Not like that! I’m still cold. Here, give me your arm.”  
Taking Karkat’s arm, Dave threads it over his little side, so that Karkat is now holding him like you, and that Karkat’s hand rests on your ribs. The configuration doesn’t make him happy- you can tell from the especially sour face he hides with his free hand- but he doesn’t complain. You toss your cloak over the three of you.  
Dave, on the other hand, is completely happy. His brother, his frog and his friend. In the centre of his small, safe world.   
“Night night,” he yawns into your collar.  
“G’nite, little man. No nightmares tonight, ok?”  
Dave mutters something affirmative. Only seconds later, he has dropped off. You always envied your brother. Such a talented sleeper. He can go off like flicking a light switch.  
You, on the other hand, are doomed to lie there and lie there and lie there until you fall asleep. The hours before sleep are always long and trudging, and no matter how tired you are, weary of the world and its inhabitants, the dreams that you want so badly take their sweet time in arriving.  
Sleep feels a long way away tonight.   
“Are you ok?”  
Karkat shrugs “I’ve survived worse.”  
“But are you gonna be ok?”  
“Yeah. I’m fine. What about you?”  
You reach up to your throat and brush the tender bruises coiled about it “I…I’ll be fine, I guess.”  
Karkat moves his hand from your ribs, tucking his hand under Dave. You resist the urge to chase his hand and grab it back. You liked it where it was.  
“Dirk, far be it from me to question your insidious oddness, but you’re not going to sleep with those on your face, are you?”  
You have forgotten you were wearing your glasses. Dave is too. Quickly, you remove both pairs and stash them in a pocket you are unlikely to roll onto in the middle of the night. Now that you think about it, it’s probably not a good idea to sleep on a knife that’s within slicing distance of your thighs or the other thing.  
Karkat is staring at you “What?”  
“Your face. Why do you hide it?”  
“Good question.”  
The sound of the wind in the trees fills the pause.  
“Well, is there a good answer?” asks Karkat irritably “Or are you just gonna be a flighty douche about it?”  
You give him your fakest, most winning smile “Flighty douche.”  
“Flighty douche?” repeats Karkat “Why am I not surprised? Oh, right, because that’s what you are. Still, it’s pretty fucking evil of you to get your kid brother in on it. He’ll grow up demented.”  
You kind of like it when people bumble into your most sensitive and traumatic secrets like this. Their clumsiness makes you feel better about having the problems in the first place. At least you’re not an ass-hat with no intuition or sensitivity like they are, yeah?  
At the same time, you get the feeling that Karkat knows he’s talking about something big. The way he does it betrays no outside-of-the-box-thinking, no clue that he knows what he’s doing, except that it’s Karkat. Karkat has secrets and problems of his own, and he knows how to sneak around with them crushing them like there’s nothing unusual or wrong about it as well.  
“What would your parents say?”  
There it is.  
Because you and Karkat have nothing to stare at but each other, you see just the slightest facial twitch when he says this. Something rippling underneath a surface, carefully calculated to appear uncaring and brash. He’s good at this. You probably didn’t notice up to this point just how good he was at this because of your unfortunate, but often accurate, habit of assuming that you have it the worst out of everyone in the room. Also, he’s been unconscious for most of the time.  
“My mom’s not around to say anything about it, and it’s my father that enforces it in the first place.”  
Karkat cocks a pale eyebrow “Oh really? What a weird fashion choice. I’ve never seen glasses like them before.”  
“They’re not glasses.”  
“What then- no, I don’t care, I don’t want to know about another Germany. You make this shit up when it suits you.”  
In his sleep, Dave turns onto his back and flips over again, like a cat chasing a sunbeam. Now he’s tucked into Karkat’s chest. You take the opportunity to scoot little closer to the both of them.  
“Your father’s not a nice person, is he?”  
Karkat has apparently lost his patience. That was quick.  
On the bright side, so have you “Nope. He’s the worst person I’ve ever met. No one else comes close.”  
“Huh.”  
“What do you think of that?”  
Almost unconsciously, Karkat pats the top of Dave’s head and clears some hair from his mouth “Maybe it’s a good thing you two found your way here.”  
And with that, he’s done. You had hoped that, since you opened up and everything, he would open up a little bit to you. Maybe tell you what he did to deserve his curse. A little more about Adelaide, who can somehow transport you two ‘warm bodies’ right out of the Unknown. Maybe he would even tell you about the Beast, since he kind of seems like a big deal around here.  
But, no, Karkat is done.  
Karkat has filled his quota of helpfulness today.  
“Thanks.”  
“Yeah.”  
“For everything-”  
“Yeah, Dork, I get it. Go to sleep. I’ll keep an eye out for us.”  
“Sure. Won’t be easy, though. I’m not that good at sleeping.”  
Karkat rolls his eyes “The way I hear it, it’s not a talent for you people.”  
Only a few seconds later, you fall asleep. And dream of drowning.


	22. Rolling on the river, running from the Beast every night and day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the next chapter on, it was hard for me to write without tearing up a little. Almost all of the chapters are done and we should be ending the story pretty soon.  
> You might wanna prepare yourselves, small readership, for some heart-break that is expected if you've already seen the series. If not? Well, buckle your seat-belts and grab a pack of tissues, because I actually cried writing the next chapter and I've seen Mufasa die at least 12 times without shedding a tear.

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you have come to the end of a long road. Almost. The road is a metaphor, ok? Not a literal reference to the bridge that you are actually walking on, which you are only half-way over at this point anyway. You’re talking about a decision. If the road was long, then the length was your life, and it was paved by every choice, every accident and every minor little happenstance that has ever happened to you so far. It was winding, arduous, mostly composed of steep slopes. Along the way, there have been small plateaus and even a few down-hill slopes where you were able to rest your aching muscles. But they were few and far between.  
The road has been fucking interminable, but the end is in sight.  
Literally, in sight. Beneath you, the river is at its widest, strongest and highest. The shores on either side are muddy, full of trees and grass, which also chokes the river towards the shore, but in the middle the river is free of the prongs of branches reaching above water, or of the clumps of dusty, dead grass rushing in the currents. If you jumped, which you will, you would be lost in a second. Whipped away and dragged underwater by the strength of the currents. No danger of being tangled up in the branches, so that you would not only have a chance at survival, but a chance at rescue.  
The trick is going to be to prevent Jake from following you.  
You have timed this both brilliantly and very badly. Right now, despite the awkwardness and heart-break that took place a few minutes after you were handed your report card, Jake English is not that far behind you. You can sense him wanting to run to catch up, either to elicit apology from you, or offer some of his own and ask for another chance, or all of that. That in itself is pretty terrible. His eyes, burning into your back, are already making you doubt yourself. If you turn around to look at him, you’ll lose your resolve. Probably just cry on his shoulder. You absolutely cannot do that, so, no, you are not going to look at him.  
You’re going to have a picture of his sweet, stupid face in your mind when you jump, but you won’t look at him.  
The only reason you’re glad Jake is still taking the same bridge home around the same time as you is because your brother is here. All of seven years old, so you’re hoping that he won’t understand what he’s about to see. You wonder how they’ll explain it to him. No one really knows the true circumstances of your home (though you’re hoping they’ll investigate, after you’re dead), so they’re probably gonna think you’re crazy. Dave’s not the kind of person to believe everything he’s told. Hopefully, he’s gonna remember who you are. Not the last thing that you did.  
Do. You’re not dead yet.  
“How come Jake’s not walking with us?” asks Dave for the fifth time in as many seconds.  
You’re not about to tell him you and Jake are broken up. You’re not even sure if it’s true. There was no official ‘I want out’, when you spoke this morning, but instead a kind of exchange of doubts and cruelties that were largely untrue. For you anyway. Jake may have been speaking from the heart. He has this unfortunate habit of directness and honesty that you find adorable, so that thing about you being cold and unloving was mostly likely how he really felt.  
“Jake’s got a headache. He needs the quiet from your noise.”  
It is a flimsy lie, told with the face of someone who has lost all patience for life and little brothers, but Dave accepts it without objection.  
“You did good on your card, right? I did good. Maybe Bro will let us out tonight. If he does, I wanna go frog-hunting.”  
You frown, surprised even through the fog of dread that settled once you made up your mind about dying “Tonight’s Halloween night. Don’t you wanna do something else?”  
Not like your father would ever let you out to do the things that normal children do on Halloween. He’d prefer that you stay in every night, but when there is potential for actual fun and cutting lose a little bit, he outright refuses to let you leave his sight.  
You are used to staying in with a bag of cheap Halloween candy, sneakily procured from a convenience store on the way home, and terrifying Dave with stories of axe-men and phone calls from basements, in a fort made of your bedsheets and his pillows, a flash-light in hand. This must be coming from the sudden interest Dave has in owning a pet. He’s been listing all kinds of names he wants for his pets. In his mind, he’s invented this world where he has a swarm of crows constantly following him, showering him with love and affection (and bird shit, you often think) and he’s got a small army of cats. A frog is a small step in the right direction, apparently.  
“I want to hunt for frogs. Can we sneak out, maybe? If Bro doesn’t wanna let us?”  
Your heart is slowly breaking. What little is left to break. You reach down and ruffle his hair “Sure. I’ll make sure you get your frog, kiddo. Gotta keep it a secret from the old man, ok?”  
Dave rolls his eyes behind his shades “Like I’d tell him.”  
You can’t believe you’re leaving this kid with your father. The only good thing you can even bring yourself to acknowledge about it is that Dave will be safe. Thanks to a serious threat you made when you were still a pre-teen, you father never started. Your father never made a habit of hitting Dave, so he’s less aggressive or stern towards him anyway. When you die, sure, his energy is gonna be concentrated all on that poor little kid, but you don’t think he’s going to lose his shit at him.  
Your father doesn’t like you very much. Bringing problems down on his head. Attracting strange men into your bedroom closet. He’s going to be glad to be rid of you.  
Anyway, the beating he’s going to want to dish out after seeing that you’ve failed gym class, which should be the easiest in the first place…it’s better that you leap into the river than deal with the next level of hell he’s going to make of your life.  
“Hey Dave, why don’t you run back real quick and check on Jake?”  
Dave looks up at you suspiciously “Are you guys fighting?”  
Shit. Sometimes you forget how fucking perceptive Dave is, for a seven-year-old who just learned to tie his shoes without tying his fingers too.  
You force an innocent smile to your face “Us? Nope. Like I said, Jake doesn’t need two noisy Striders right now. But he can probably handle one of us. Just run back and ask him if he wants to come over tonight.”  
“You do it.”  
“Hm…nope. I’ll wait up here.”  
“Why not?” presses Dave.  
You’d be annoyed with him, if it weren’t for what you’re about to do “Because big brother said so. Now hop to, little man, lest my boot find your backside.”  
He scuttles off, laughing and making a rude gesture at you he’s far too young to be using.  
You keep your back to him, though, and close your eyes. Letting the sound of him laughing, calling out to Jake and running away from you to wash over you. It’s a pleasant, warm feeling. A nice sensation to have on your skin before you die.  
“Dave!”  
“What?”  
“Love you!”  
He shrieks “You’re gross!”  
The next part comes out without your permission. It’s unfair, confusing, and it’ll fuck him up for a long time. But you can’t hold it in. And anyway, you’ve made Jake wait too long to hear it.  
“You too, Jake!”  
And with that, you drop your bag on the floor, get up on the banister of the bridge and hang in empty space, balancing better than you ever did in gym. Just for a few seconds.  
You hear Jake scream your name. You hear Dave cry out.  
Then you hear the roar of wind and the rush of the water coming to meet you, as you pitch forward.

 

Dave slaps you in the face. Then on the other side. Gently, with his little fingers only, bringing you around.   
“Karkat says if you sleep any longer he’s going to bury you.” he warns.  
His fingers graze your cheek. They pause, as if confused by something on your face. You open your eyes, confronted by his bright red eyes looming over you. With a start, you realise your own eyes are wet.  
“Why are you crying?” from this angle, Dave’s face is like the moon, and his mouth is upside-down.  
“I need to yawn.” you lie.  
Before he can think the better of being within hugging-range, you grab him and punish him accordingly. Dave flails, but is quickly subdued.   
His protests are muffled “You’re so weird!”  
You allow one or two more tears to slip out before you pull yourself together.   
Karkat is on the other side of the clearing. He must have sensed the seriousness of the moment, because he is reclining against another tree at a respectful distance. Waiting for you to finish sorting your shit out.   
He knows.  
He may not know specifically what you did to arrive here, but he knows that you did something bad. Something horrible, in fact. Dave must have gone after you.  
You’re not sure if you should be more disgusted by yourself or mad at Jake for not stopping him- no, not Jake. Pinning the blame for any of this on Jake is just a new level of depraved self-pity. You’re not going to do that.  
How could you forget all this? It must be a part of the deal down here. Make an attempt at suicide, or die, and you could end up in the Unknown, but with no memories of how you arrived or what you might have done to arrive. Gives you a fresh start, even as something is ending behind you. Every step you have taken into the woods has been a step home. It’s probably safe to assume that when you surface in the real world, you will do so with water-logged lungs and a sodden little brother clinging to your arm as the rapids toy with the two of you. You brought that on yourself. You brought that on him. You have doomed Jake to be the one who stands overhead and watches two blonde heads getting pushed under, again and again, until they stay down for good. In fact, it is entirely possible he has already watched you die.  
But Karkat called you a ‘warm body’.  
You’re going to take the little spark of hope that gives you and fan into a fire.  
You straighten up, with Dave tucked under your arm like a package “Karkat! How soon ‘til we get to the ferry?”  
He seems unnerved, surprised, annoyed or all of the above by your sudden change of face “Not long. Half an hour, maybe.”  
“Wonderful. Let’s move,” you sling an arm around his shoulder, suddenly giddy “Tonight, my friend, we dine in hell.”  
“Hell is every day with you.” says Karkat flatly.  
Dave laughs.  
Once you’re back on the path, you put Dave down. His legs are already pumping pre-emptively, so the second they touch the ground he’s up the path like a shot, the frog hopping frantically after him. You’ve never seen him looking so energetic. All the way through, as well, not just het up and needing to run around. But excited to be alive, to be where he is with who he is with.  
He just looks happy to be here.  
That’s enough for you.  
“How long ‘ti you’re a bird again?”  
Karkat glances at the rosy fingers of dawn trailing across the sky “I’ll be feathered in…fifteen minutes, I guess. And don’t you dare try to carry me unless I land on you. I can fly by myself. I mean it. I’ll peck you.”  
You grin at the thought of having the cursing cardinal flapping around your head again “I get it. You’re a big boy. Your independence is important to you. Hey, Karkat, you know what I am?”  
“Stupid?”  
“No. Not like that. I mean, you know what I did to get here?”  
He seems taken aback by the sudden change of tune, but he rolls with it “I guessed. It’s kinda hard to know with you warm bodies. None of you seem to know what you’re doing here when you first show up.”  
“How many of us are there?”  
He shrugs, uncomfortable “Not many. None, most of the time. You and Dave are only like the fifth I’ve ever seen. I saw a few from a distance. Dad never let me get close. He warned me about interfering with some kind of divine, dangerous quest these people needed all their wits for. Fights, you know. You do know you’re battling for something, right?”  
You nod.  
“What is it?”  
“My life. I’m drowning.”  
Unexpectedly, Karkat puts his ear to your chest. He then thumps your stomach gently with his fist and draws back, frowning “I don’t hear any water in there. You must be doing ok.”  
“Pretty sure that’s not how it works.”  
“Pretty sure that fuck you, I can say what I want.”  
You have to smile “Why are you helping us?”  
Karkat shrugs “You got your problems, I got mine. This is me fixing my problems.”  
He seems surprised that you don’t question him. So are you, in all honesty. You have never had to come to trust someone so completely so quickly. Trust is not an easy thing for you to give, nor feel, but Karkat has yours.  
You hope he knows that, because you’re not about to tell him.

 

Cary the Ferryman can be summoned quickly and cheaply. All it takes is a couple drops of yours and Dave’s blood. Karkat has the two of you cut your fingers open when you arrive on the stony bank of a meandering river and drop the blood into the water. Because you are standing on a teetering, steep bank rather than a nice sandy shore (of which there are none in sight), the blood is whipped away as quickly as your own body was sucked underneath the water.  
Funny how you can think of that other time, that other place, with little to no nostalgia, except for a pang of longing for Jake. God, the thing you made Jake watch. On the off-chance that he ever tries to forgive you for that, you won’t let him. You’re not going to forgive yourself.  
You don’t have time to think much else about the many wrongs you have committed against your possible ex before a long, black boat appears from literal nowhere and draws level with the shore. The boat is shaped in a way that reminds you of those things the Egyptian Pharaohs drove around the Nile. It’s got a curved figurehead and a smooth, simple shape that will accommodate plenty of people, though you can’t imagine the Ferryman is summoned with idle intentions, nor by large groups.  
“You again,” notes the Ferryman, letting out a low, impressed whistle from the depths of his hood “I was hoping I might see you two again.”  
“We know you!” exclaims Dave “From the Inn.”  
“Yes, you know me. Now are you getting on the boat or what?”  
You pick Dave up under the arms and, after a moment of hesitation, hand him over to the Ferryman, who deposits him safely on the floor of the boat. You then sit and slide into the boat, dropping into it as carefully as you can. Karkat alights on the prow, looking for all the world like the roaring dragons the Vikings used to stick on their ships. No sooner than the three of you are in the boat does it pull away from the shore.  
The Ferryman holds no oar or tool otherwise to make the ship move. He just seems to be willing it to go move, and it responds effortlessly. He takes his place at the prow of the ship. Karkat’s fat, crested little head turns at an unnatural angel to scrutinise him, but he refuses to relinquish his position. For some reason, he seems to want to be kind of far away from you and Dave right now.  
“So…you know where you’re taking us?”  
“The Good Woman of the Woods.”   
“Ok. Uh, so how long is that going to take?”  
“That entirely depends on you. If you’re going to talk to me, then the trip will be interminable.”  
You raise an eyebrow “Wow. Rude. Ok, fine. No talking from me.”  
“Oh my gosh, Eridan!” squeaks Dave on the other end of the boat.  
To your surprise, you see a small, dark-haired boy appearing from a hatch in the floor. He climbs up, accepting Dave’s offer of help with a smile that makes his pale flesh bright, his freckles standing out like torches in the night.  
“You’re ok,” says Dave, as if welcoming a lover back from the war “That’s so good. I mean, wow, I’m so glad you’re ok. Is this your dad?”  
The other child nods happily “Uh-huh. W-we ain’t seen each other in years.”  
“Six and a half.” says the Ferryman curtly.  
Suddenly, his head snaps around to face you. You can’t help but jump back a little bit and want to reach for your knife.  
“Thank you.”  
That’s not what you expected to hear.  
“Were it not for your interference, I doubt my boy and the others would have escaped. We already have two of our best trackers after that shit of a woman, so it should be a matter of days before the rest of the children are rescued.”  
“Your trackers?” a vivid memory of being sandwiched between those two terrifying women springs, unbidden, to the front of your mind “Oh. Ok. Good luck to them…so what happened to the other two kids?”  
You almost expect Eridan’s face to crumple, for him to weep about how they couldn’t save them, but he actually smiles again “They’re gonna be fine, I guess. Sol’s dad ain’t around no more and Jade nev-ver had no one in the first place, but they’re gonna be fine. So long as they stay near the Inn.”  
With that settled, you leave Eridan and Dave to catch up and go towards the front of the boat, where the Ferryman stands. The river is like nothing you’ve ever seen before, mostly because half of it is lost in a shroud of fog. The grey water stops at a certain point, as if the clouds that hang over it are made of steel rather than water vapour. The rush of water is muted, and the voices of the two chattering kids might as well be bellows in a cave, for the way it is echoing.  
You watch the other side of the river closely. The Ferryman is kind of close to the first bank, but not in any kind of distance where he might bump it. He’s just being very cautious that he doesn’t stray too close to the fog. The way the fog looks back when you look at it- like standing in front of a hostile, whispering crowd. You try to ignore it, turning your back to it.  
Karkat notices your discomfort “Yeah, you better be scared. That side of the river is bad news for everyone.”  
“Specifically those who are still alive.” adds the Ferryman, as casually as if he were remarking on the weather.  
A spike of adrenaline floods your veins, but you manage to keep your hands in your pockets and your jaw cranked shut. It won’t do you any good to freak out right now, will it?   
“So, Ferryman, if I’m a minority for being alive, does that mean the rest of you are…” you trail off.  
You can’t finish that sentence while you’re looking at Karkat.  
“No, it doesn’t. It means your scope of thinking is too small to accommodate anything but absolute antitheses, and therefore, you are witheringly stupid and I don’t wish to talk to you anymore.”  
Somehow, the fact that he’s not gonna tell you is more relieving than it is frustrating “You were a lot more fun at the Inn.”  
“Well now I am at work. I’m a professional here, not a member of your spell-bound audience.”  
As far as you can tell, the Ferryman doesn’t have to do much more than stand at the prow and look menacing. Throughout the duration of the trip, of about an hour, the most he does is tell Eridan to sit down or quiet down when he and Dave are getting a little rowdy. Every now and then, the boat is smoothly steered around an out-cropping of rock or a fallen tree.   
He doesn’t speak. You don’t try to make him speak. You are content with the quiet- or what little quiet there is, with two kids trilling in the back of the boat. Karkat stays fixed on the prow for most of the trip. He doesn’t look at you, until the river bank finally changes from dense, orange woods to a blasted and blackened heath. Underneath the sheen of last night’s rain, the place looks like a lump of wet charcoal.  
Before Karkat alights on your shoulder with the bad news, you already know something terrible happened.  
The scar in the woods is at least half a mile deep. The damage may be old and stale, but the wreckage of scorched trees is still there, refusing to rot. Craters dot the ground, as if put there by an ice-cream scoop. A smell of wet ash and fire hangs in the air. The Ferryman moves the boat as close to the bank of fog as he can without entering it. Tendrils of the stuff snatch at the side of the boat. You move into the centre and glance back at Dave, relieved to see that he’s on the opposite side of the boat to the fog bank.   
Karkat lands on your shoulder “See that?”  
“What is it?”  
“Grist.” he whispers “Now you see why I made you get rid of it? And why you can never tell anyone you ever had any?”  
Your chest is tight “This is what your father got rid of?”  
He ruffles his feathers, as if blocking out a chill “Well apparently he kept some for himself.”  
The scar may be deep, but it’s not that long. It doesn’t take very much time to pass it, but once you do make it past the Grist scars, it seems like the whole boat breathes a sigh of relief.  
And not half an hour later, you have finally reached the Pasture.  
Dave and Eridan finally re-join the rest of society. Dave has to be picked up and put on your shoulders to get a proper view of the Pasture, and he seems to like what he sees. It’s just a flat expanse of long, dry grass with some wildflowers. The trees are all at a weird angle, though. Almost like they’re leaning away from the pasture. You notice there are at least half a dozen Edelwoods craning away, among the rest of the trees. At the very back of it is a little thatched house, framed by two Edelwoods.   
“Shit.”  
“Shit,” echoes the Ferryman dispassionately “Take care not to give her too much.”  
“What does that mean?” you frown.  
“It means that Good Women tend to borrow their virtues from others. Now would you please be so kind as to get the hell off my boat? I’ve got a lot of work to do.” he gives you a good-natured pat on the back.  
Eridan hops off the boat to help Dave down.  
You catch the last fragment of their conversation: “…get back, just look for me in the w-water w-when it’s dark. W-we could see each other again. And don’t put those nasty things back on. I like you better w-without them on.”  
Dave nods seriously “You’re gonna be good at being a Ferryman.”  
Eridan’s face is grim “Gods, I hope so. I’ll see you later.”  
He climbs back into the boat, but reaches down to squeeze Dave’s hand.  
“See you later,” echoes Dave confidently “Thank you for the ride, Mr Ferryman.”  
The Ferryman pushes his hood back for the first time. He tucks an arm around his son’s shoulders as the boat pulls away from the bank. The father and son look remarkably like each other. Eridan will grow up to look exactly like him, assuming he is at some point attacked viciously and left with the dual scars that halve his father’s face. You get the feeling that it is not the scars that the Ferryman is anxious to hide. More like his glowing, endless eyes.   
Dave waves goodbye. The boat recedes into the fog without so much as a ripple of water.  
Karkat shudders “If there’s one thing worse than being fucking weird, it’s being unapologetically weird, like them. Pillar of the community, but just…fucking crazy.”  
“Eridan’s gonna be the Ferryman when his dad is done,” pipes up Dave “He’s kinda scared. He doesn’t like the other side of the river very much.”  
Karkat nods sagely “What sanity-loving individual would, is my question. Let’s get out of here.”  
But he doesn’t make a move towards the house at the back of the pasture.  
“Karkat?”  
You note that he is trembling, just slightly.  
“Get a move on, Dork,” he snaps “My wings are tired. Go on. Move.”  
You smile indulgently “One second.”  
Drawing yours and Dave’s shades from your pocket, you snap them in your bare hands, then crush what remains under-foot and sweep the fragments of plastic into the river. Dave watches this without shock or complaint. When you are done, he takes your hand and pulls you towards the house.  
“We’re almost home,” his voice is dull.  
“Mm hmm.”  
Karkat doesn’t have anything to add to that.


	23. The Good Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I recommend for this? No? Fuck you I'm doing it anyway?  
> Well it may seem a little bit sadistic and strange, but I listened to Lucy Rose's 'Shiver' the entire time I wrote this. I played for almost two hours on a loop.  
> Yeah this was a hard chapter to write

Your name is Dirk Strider and you’re in trouble.  
No sooner than you have taken a step towards the house do you hear the song. It was the song that you found in the same pocket as the Grist. The song that gave Dave such a terrible feeling he banned you from singing it, reading it, thinking about it again. And it rings out loud and clear, less than one hundred feet away from you, just behind the tree-line.  
“…submit to the soil of the earth…”  
For some reason, the Beast has chosen to start his song from the very last line. You don’t want to question it. You don’t give yourself the time to think before you’ve got Dave under an arm and you’re running like a madman through the long grass.  
Karkat is in the air once more “Dirk! Watch your feet!”  
You look down just in time to register a full skeleton leaking out of a beaten cloak at your feet. With one, long jump boosted by an extraordinary explosion of adrenaline, you clear the skeleton and land safely. Dave lets out a little scream, then covers his mouth. With one quick glance over your shoulder, you realise he isn’t screaming at you or at the shock of the jump.  
He sees the Beast.  
The Beast was named appropriately. You can’t think of a better word for the gnarled, giant, wraith-like thing you see standing among the trees. Or wish for a better incentive to get your ass indoors.  
Karkat shouts for you to jump again. This time, there are two skeletons, both of them small, wrapped in the rags of child-sized clothes.  
The song has started again. You realise you’ve been hearing that voice all the time, ever since you stepped into the Unknown. It was not only the wind that has been whistling through the trees. Even though you know the words to the song, it has taken you this long to be able to pick them out of the chilling, cutting wind.  
The Beast has always been waiting.  
Well, if it’s not too much trouble to it, it’s going to be waiting a little while longer, because you’re throwing Adelaide’s door open and slamming it shut, and he is now trapped outside. And you, inside.  
Your first thought is ‘spider’.  
Yarn, everywhere, strung up from every conceivable hook and latch and cranny all over the broad room. Trailing from the ceiling. Brushing your face, tangling in your hair. Of every colour, thickness, texture, all of it forming a kind of web that is centred around a canopy bed directly in front of you. The wizened woman tucked into the dusty covers looks up, her fingers busy with needles and threads. Her dull eyes brighten, like polished rocks.  
“My dears,” she rasps “You have come. Karkat, well done.”  
Dave gasps and grips his frog tightly.  
You look at Karkat, a cold, creeping sensation of dread stealing into your chest “Karkat. What…”  
A bird’s face is not meant to communicate pain, nor grief, nor guilt, but Karkat’s manages every single one of these.  
“Adelaide,” his voice is choked “I…can’t you take me instead?”  
The woman’s fingers twitch compulsively in the tangle of thread “Whatever for? You have held up your end of the bargain beautifully, dear, and I dare say that is the boss himself, singing for us just outside?” she pauses, peeling away one of the many shrouds over her head so she can cock an ear towards a barred window “Why, it is indeed. How terribly exciting!”  
“Please! You don’t want these morons!”  
Karkat hops from your shoulder and perches on a thick strand of thread that supports his weight without dipping. The desperation is now plain in his eyes “They’re fucking idiots, Adelaide! I’ve been wandering into all kinds of trouble with these shits, and believe me, the amount of danger they attract…they’re just not worth it!”  
“Karkat?” squeaks Dave, his eyes wide in fear.  
He doesn’t look at Dave “Find someone else! I mean it! They’re not worth the trouble it’s gonna take to get them ready!”  
“Oh, I wouldn’t agree to that dear. They seem perfectly healthy to me,” she takes a deep sniff of air “And, oh my, don’t they just smell delicious?”  
“You bastard,” you growl “This entire time…”  
Karkat shakes his head “Dirk, please! Just get out of here! Just fucking run!”  
“I will have none of that nonsense.” says Adelaide.  
She tugs at a thick thread near to her bed. All at once, the web comes to life. Threads wrap around you and Dave, twisting your arms back with the strength of steel twine and making Dave howl as he’s winched into the air. This only makes you struggle more, and God, it hurts so much, struggling against these bindings is like struggling against a saw as it cuts down to the bone.  
“No!” barks Karkat “Adelaide, no!”  
“Oh come now, don’t waste all your hard work with a little fit. You are so close to freeing your family.” she clicks her teeth together like a horse champing at its bit “Now, let me see you, dear.”  
She opens her arms. You are passed into the centre of the web, picking up more and more thread as you go until you can hardly move. Your throat is being squeezed for the second time in as many days, and threatens to bleed as your necklace of bruises are pressed.  
“Don’t hurt him! I’ll kill you!”  
“Leave him alone you scum-sucking bitch!”  
The funny thing is, you can’t even tell what Dave is saying from what Karkat is saying. As Adelaide cups your face in thorny fingers, their voices blend into a single stream of desperate threats and pleas. Out of the corner of your eye, you see with some satisfaction that Karkat’s little body has been ensnared in a nest of threads to hold him down.  
Tears prick your vision.  
“Now, now, mustn’t fuss,” croons Adelaide “You must be very brave, dear, for you are about to go through something rather horrible. Rather…rather horrible indeed,” her eyes glaze over while her hands grope through the knitting in her lap, to a needle the size of your fore-finger “If I should have to undergo it one day I am sure I would make a horrible fuss. But you? You’re the elder child. So stop that snivelling and be brave for your little brother.”  
Suddenly, she whips a small, silver instrument out from underneath the covers. You wince, anticipating the bite of mental into your body. But instead, she strings the instrument- a pair of scissors in the shape of a bird, with its beak being the blade- onto a thread and it is winched and dropped and looped through the threads until it’s dangling in front of Karkat.  
“Two little snips,” she says dreamily “Snip, snip you wings away and be on your way. Back to the mill, even though it must have rotted something terrible, no doubt? No matter. Your family awaits.”  
She draws the needle and hovers over your eye for just long enough to make your throat freeze and constrict. Then she makes a small, thoughtful cut across the bridge of your nose.  
“Yes, quite. This will certainly do.”  
“I don’t want them! Not like this!”  
Adelaide glances around you and glowers at Karkat “Oh do hush, you’re putting me off. Just take the scissors and be on your way you silly boy. I’m quite busy.”  
“Karkat! Help him!” begs Dave.  
“Now, this may pinch a bit, but I’m just going to take this here…”  
Adelaide’s hand closes over your face. Next is a splitting, searing pain, accompanied by an ear-splitting scream. Is that you?  
Something pops out of your face with a wet squelch.  
Well, that scream was definitely you.  
“NO!”  
“GODS DAMN YOU!”  
“Dirk!”  
“Ah, what a beautiful colour this is. Red as blood. Or, perhaps, wine? Or, perhaps, as red as that stunning moon a few nights back. Did you by any chance happen to see that moon, dear?”  
Your world shrinks to a collection of nerve impulses. A whole riot of them, screaming bloody murder into your brain. The pain is intolerable. You’ve got to pass out. There is no other option but to pass out.  
But Dave. Dave needs your help. Maybe Karkat too.  
“Oh my god.”  
Wait a second, who the hell is that? That’s not Dave- he’s just sobbing right now. That’s too deep to be Karkat, and he’s too busy screaming at Adelaide.  
You force your good eye open.  
Jake’s staring back at you. Soaking wet, so you can’t tell how much of the wetness in his eyes is from tears.  
“What are you doing, Dirk?” he holds you close to him “What are you doing?”  
“Sorry,” you taste blood in your mouth “I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t die.” he begs.  
“I…Dave?”  
“I don’t know,” he bites his lip “I can’t- I don’t…I never saw him.”  
That’s all you need to hear. You kiss him once, on the tip of his nose, and push away from his iron grip. Jake screams, of course, but you ignore him and slip back into the blackness that clamours for more, deeper blackness, so you can get away from the sear of pain in your head.  
You crank your one, remaining eye open and fill your mouth with thread. Adelaide is distracted by something wet and shiny cupped in her palms. She doesn’t notice you ripping away the thread from your shoulder, then your arm, peeling away at the cocoon. She doesn’t notice as your rip your arm free and grope into the threads, tugging at this and that until Karkat’s threads shiver and jerk under your hand. You grab a fistful of Karkat’s thread and pull him towards you with all your strength, which is considerable, even though you can feel the tip of your optic nerve on your cheek.  
As he comes towards you, so do the scissors. Too much work to get to your knife, right?  
Karkat twigs. He starts to reach for the scissors with his foot. You get to them first, just as Adelaide snaps out of her trance.  
“Now, now, you naughty boy-” she manages.  
Then you put a hole in her throat with the tip of the scissors and push, push, push until you can feel the blades bending just a little bit against the vertebrae in the back.  
Blood sprays into your face. All at once, the threads slacken. The bump when you reach the ground is so jarring you actually do pass out. But only for a few, glorious, senseless seconds, and then you’re back and struggling to your feet, away from the body.  
Dave rushes to your side, crying. But he doesn’t throw himself on you, thank God, but instead brings a little bandage out of his pocket and quickly presses it to your eye.  
“Shit!”  
“Sorry!”  
“What?”  
“Eridan gave it to me! He said we were gonna get hurt if we were talking to the lady-” he must catch sight of the body over your shoulder, because the colour drains from his face and he sways slightly. Then, with a vigorous shake, he brings himself back under control and ties the bandage around your head with a strip of gauze. He does it well- he must have learned from watching you patch yourself up about a hundred times.  
Your head swims “Did I get her?”  
Dave nods “You got her. You did a good job.”  
You slacken against him “I can’t move.”  
“Uh-huh, yes you can. Come on. Get up.” he stands up and forces your arm around his shoulder, trying to lever you up “Get up. You can do it. Get up.”  
“Karkat…”  
“He’s ok too. We’ll get him in a minute.”  
Your eyes wander around the house until you find Karkat, perched on a bed-knob over Adelaide’s body. Bile climbs into your throat. You swallow, hard.  
Bastard.  
Fucking bastard.  
“Here we go.”  
Dave has the door open. He guides you outside, carefully, quietly, still crying.  
He wasn’t there, was he? Jake had you and you pushed away from Jake because Dave wasn’t there.  
Well, what the fuck do you do now?  
You just walk away from the house. Gaining strength with every step, you think. It still hurts like a bitch, your eye, but your pain tolerance should be high after the life you’ve had. No, fuck no, not this high and God, you would so gladly pass out to get away from it if you thought Dave would be ok, but that would mean leaving him with Karkat and the Beast.  
And at this point you’re not sure which one is worse.  
“We gotta wait for Karkat now.” says Dave.  
He holds something out to you- a pair of scissors, shaped like a bird, with its blades, or beak, bent slightly at the tip “I got them out. They’re for Karkat. I think he needs them to change back.”  
“He’s not fucking getting them.”  
Dave blinks “You…you’re in a lot of pain. You’re not thinking right. We can all talk about it soon, but just don’t get so mad you can think about it. You’re just hurting a lot. And bleeding a lot.”  
He fishes another piece of bandage out of his pocket to mop the blood up, off your cheeks. By the time he turns around again, you’re on your feet and stalking into the forest. The Beast isn’t singing anymore, and the glow or glare of the lantern is still absent.  
“Dirk, wait! Karkat’s not here yet!”  
Dave stands there, his fists clenched, poised forward on his feet to either run to you or run to fetch Karkat. You keep walking.  
“Dirk!”  
You keep walking.  
“Please!”  
You step over another skeleton.  
“We have to wait for Karkat!”  
You’re almost to the tree-line.  
“Fuck you!” Dave has appeared, teary and breathless at your side “You’re so fucking stupid!”  
The two of you disappear into the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the feels guys  
> Hurt me as bad to write as it hurt to read, I bet


	24. Warm bodies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So some of you will have noticed that friendly little suggestion to go watch the series. And how it keeps happening.  
> Uh, I have no idea how to remove that and I only just noticed it, so...apologies. I hate it just as much as you all do. Probably a whole lot more.

Your name is Karkat Vantas.  
They call it the Beast.  
The Beast is the only one in your house, when you come home. The vegetable garden that your father had your sisters tend for his experiments was empty, though Kanaya’s tools still lay scattered about as if she had just left them for a moment. Inside, a book lay open in front of the hearth. Porrim should have been stretched in front of it with the corner of a page between her fingers. It was poised for her, waiting for her. There was even some fresh wood right next to the book, ready to be thrown onto the fire.  
Contrary to popular belief, you’re not stupid. In fact, you like to think of yourself as a kind of sinister, observing intelligence. Just because you don’t seize every opportunity to show off your brain and throttle it, that doesn’t mean you’re not smart. And at the very least, you have a good, sharp set of instincts. Instincts are all one needs to sense the Beast. That keenness of observation will become useful at some later point, you’re sure.  
You had gone upstairs in search of your absent sisters. Perhaps they were crowded into your father’s study again, trying to convince him to get back in touch with the real world? Reminding him he had three other children who were still firmly lodged in this plane of existence? They like to talk to him when they do that. For your part, you just throw stones at his window until he opens one to tell you to knock it off and you nail him between the eyes.  
But already, there was dread, even before you pushed the door open onto an empty study, because you’re not stupid and you knew what was coming.  
No one was there. No one was home at all, though they should have been.  
Since the afternoon that the Woods-Woman sneaked up on you to speak to your father, you have always been on edge. Extra observant. Watching, waiting for anything to take one of the ample opportunities to hurt you.  
So you noticed the Beast fairly quickly when you realised your house was empty.  
It was around the back.  
You went downstairs, wishing for something that covered you more. When someone talks to the beast, they would do well to wear a little more than just thin summer clothes. Just looking at it chills your bones.  
Now, you stand in front of him. It is a warm day, but with the Beast it may as well be the dead of winter.  
You need to speak. To demand to know where he has taken your family. Demand them back. order him off your land, to go to hell. Threaten him.  
You have to do something.  
But you can’t make yourself speak.  
The Beast speaks freely “I suppose you would like to know what your father’s gone and done to your family, wouldn’t you?”  
He must have taken them away and made them into Edelwoods. Gods, what even is he? What kind of thing is it that can walk into your home- everything you have earned and bought and stolen and made over a life-time- and in on a family, people you hate and cherish in equal measures, and just…destroy all of that in one fell swoop? And probably does this to more than one person in a day?  
And…and what is he?  
Why is he?  
How could he be?  
“Shall I tell you?” presses the Beast, the amusement faint, but plain in his voice “Your father believed he was owed something. He believed that after everything he has done for this little kingdom of mine, he should be granted something by fate for his hard work. Do you understand what I’m getting at?”  
You still can’t speak. You can’t even stand at this point- your legs have given out and one of your knees is bleeding.  
“Speak up, child.”  
“Where are they?”  
Seems you had to wait for his permission to be able to speak.  
“They have gone,” says the Beast simply “And they will not be coming back. I’m afraid your father is not as shrewd as he thinks, when it comes to making deals.”  
“Bring them back.”  
“I cannot. They are lost to me.” he bends at the waist, leaning down to you, with a sound like a tree falling “But they are not lost to you.”  
Oh, gods. You can’t do this, can you?  
“What…what do I…”  
Before you can finish your sentence, your throat shrinks. Your voice does not change, but the force of your throat suddenly being sucked inwards and miniaturised is so shocking that it chokes off your words suddenly. The rest of your body follows suit. Your skin melts to down and feathers. Your insides become simpler and your bones hollow. Your mouth solidifies into a beak and your hair strikes up at some amazing angle that you’re sure will embarrass you later when you can think about it.  
Last of all, your outstretched arms become wings. The flesh becomes fletched and red.  
It has been a few days since the curse began to affect you. The first day you woke as a bird, you would have cried in fear for hours if it were within a bird’s capacity to cry from fear. But it is not. So you have made a long, arduous trek home from a pilgrimage you never should have taken (but you just needed to get away from your father for a few days- just for space to breathe, for fuck’s sake), walking with legs at night and flying with wings during the day.  
You find the strength to finish the question “What do I do?”  
The Beast looks at you. If he could be impressed (and when did you start knowing its gender?) he would be, right now. He thinks for an interminable moment.  
“You have met my companion.”  
He gestures vaguely with a pronged, wooden finger towards the woods. The Woods-Woman is there, brandishing her lantern against the weak shadows of the morning. You could kill her. You would, if you had hands. You’d walk right over and stretch her neck by two feet.  
“Yes.” you say.  
“You know what she is.”  
“Yes.”  
“So you know there are certain limits on what she is able to do. Not from a lack of ability, you see, though I’m afraid she can certainly be utterly useless sometimes…no, from a lack of character. My friend does not have the character, nor charisma, nor acting talent to behave in any manner that might entice anyone to trust her. But you? You’re not the most pleasant of people, Karkat, in fact I find you acerbic and obnoxious, but if I were a young, frightened person I dare say I would have no trouble following you into certain doom if you told me it was going to save me.”  
And here is where that sneaking intelligence comes into play. You know what he wants. You have guessed at it. You have taken little pieces of the jigsaw here and there and everywhere, from the stories whispered about him and what he has done, and the odd strain of song in the distance. From the odd visit- the warm bodies.  
“You want me to bring you a warm body.”  
The hollow suns that serve for eyes brighten in their sockets “Well done! You are, of course familiar with Adelaide, the Good Woman of the Pasture?”  
“Good Woman,” you repeat bitterly “She’s a flesh-stealing witch.”  
“Exactly. Her services may come at a high cost, but she achieves her promised results. What I propose to you is…a waiting game, of a sort. If you can bring the next pair of warm bodies that come through here to Adelaide so that she may prepare the bodies for…for my needs, then I will give you back your family. And as for your curse, should you wish to remove that, I’m sure Adelaide can help you. You’d have to talk to her first.”  
“Why do you need two?”  
“Why do you think? You’re smart. You can figure it out, if it really means so much to you to understand what I am doing. Now, do we have a deal, or don’t we?”  
The pain of unspilt tears- tears that your anatomy will not allow, it makes for a splitting headache. Feels like there’s an axeman taking a few swings at your chest too.  
“It could be years before another pair comes through.”  
“Or it could be days.” answers the Beast evenly.  
“Where are they?”  
“They’re gone. You could bring them back. You could be working towards bringing them back at this very moment, if only you would agree to help me.”  
“Fine.”  
“Fine?”  
“I’ll do it. I’ll bring you your warm bodies.”  
The Beast’s eyes glow with amusement “Yes, I imagine you will.”

 

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas.  
You didn’t do it to them. You could have, so easily, and gods-damn you, you almost did. But at the last second, you didn’t.  
And now you’re more alone than you have ever been in your short, sparse existence.

 

 

Your name is Dirk Strider and your little brother is on your last nerve.  
He won’t stop cussing you out. Ever since you left Adelaide’s, every word from his mouth has been a foul curse, a plea or some kind of insult.  
Why did you leave Karkat? We need to go back for Karkat! Karkat could be hurt again, we have to go back and make sure he’s ok!  
Now, that’s not to say that you’ve gotten very far from Adelaide’s. If you were to turn back and run back, you could find Karkat again in a matter of fifteen minutes or less. Dave would have probably dragged you all the way back if it weren’t for your eye. He hasn’t touched you, for fear of jostling you and causing even more pain than you are already in.  
“You don’t even know where we’re going! You’re just walking!” he says for about the tenth time “Karkat knows where to go. We need him here.”  
You don’t respond.  
Yeah, it’s sure as hell true that you don’t know where you’re going. It’s still the road. The path. The same stretch of orange-strewn dirt you’ve been pounding since you landed yourself here. The avenue is now lined with Edelwoods- they’re everywhere. Grimacing at you out of the corner of your eye. Frowning as you pass. Frozen in the act of crying out in agony or fear or grief, or perhaps laughing at the futility of what you insist on doing.  
Walking into uncertainty, with no guide and no plan. No home that you would want to return to either.  
“Dave, stop.”  
“No I won’t, I think this is-”  
You step to the side of the road and put your back to a tree “No, I mean stop. I have to think.”  
“You need help thinking,” he says sourly, kneeling beside you “You’re all tired and bloody. You probably don’t even know where you are.”  
“Lost in the Unknown, thanks to Karkat.”  
“He was just trying to help us-”  
“No! No, Dave, he wasn’t! He was serving us up! Those people- those sick fucking people, I don’t know what they wanted with us, but Karkat…he was gonna let them do it.”  
Dave bites his lip “That’s not true. He was scared for us.”  
You let out a bitter, pained laugh “He was scared of watching us be killed and that’s it.”  
“No, he didn’t want us to get hurt.”  
“So? Look what happened to me anyway.”  
You lift the corner of the bandage, just slightly, and show off the torn bottom of your eye-lid. Dave pales and looks away.  
“You know what’s worse? She was gonna do this to you too.”  
Dave takes in a shaky breath and knots his fingers in the grass. His frog senses the atmosphere and nuzzles him under the chin. Even the fucking frog is judging you for this.  
“He didn’t mean it.” insists Dave.  
“But he took us all the way there. He didn’t try to warn me or stop me. He made me think I was saving you and instead he had me delivering you to…to monsters. Do you have any idea how fucking DEVIOUS AND CRUEL THAT IS?”  
Dave flinches and covers one ear. Then he seems to change his mind about something. He squares his shoulders and looks you dead in the one eye you have left.  
“You know what? When I saw that, I went crazy! And so did Karkat! He was crazy scared and mad! He was so scared that you were gonna die, just like me! He didn’t know this was gonna happen to us!”  
“How the fuck do you know that? That- that woman, plucking an eye out of me? All those threads? She was- you know what, you don’t have to be a fucking genius to know right off the bat that a lady like that is gonna do some serious damage to anything that gets close to her!”  
Dave shakes his head, his hair flying “No! Look, no one tried to stop us from going to Adelaide! She must do some good things for people, right? So, so maybe Karkat thought she would be nice to us and she just turned out to be bad!”  
“Dave, he KNEW what he was doing! Don’t be so fucking stupid to think anything else!”  
Your little brother scrubs at his eyes with his sleeve “But he didn’t want to do it!”  
“Yeah, at the last second! He still walked miles and- AND MILES WITH US AND ALL THE TIME HE COULD HAVE WARNED US! HE WAS JUST THINKING ABOUT HIMSELF!”  
“BUT HE DIDN’T WANT TO HURT US!”  
“HE DIDN’T STOP HER!”  
“HE TRIED!”  
“HE WAS GONNA KILL US FROM THE START!”  
“WHAT DO YOU CARE? YOU WANNA BE DEAD ANYWAY!”  
That hits you like your other eye has been ripped out of your head.  
“What?” you breathe “What did you say?”  
Dave wipes his eyes again “You’re talking about trying to kill us like it’s such a bad thing, but I saw you! I saw you do it! I saw you try to leave me alone with Bro…you jerk…why the hell- why would you do that to me? Why did you…I can’t believe you did that. All of this is your fault.”  
The pain in your empty eye-socket seems to get worse with every one of his words “Dave…I didn’t mean it.”  
“You didn’t mean it?” he repeats, mocking you voice “Oh, ok, you didn’t mean to kill yourself. We’re dead now. We’re dead because of you.”  
“Yeah? Well you didn’t have to follow me, mister.”  
He sniffs “What else am I supposed to do? You know Bro hates me. When he actually remembers I exist, he hates me so much. I would die if you died. You’re…you’re the only one in the world who loves me.”  
“Oh, God. That’s not true.”  
“Uh-huh. It’s true. You have Jake, but…Jake’s cool, but he can’t be my brother. He’s just yours. I’m all alone.”  
He squeezes his frog miserably.  
“’cept for you. And you tried to kill yourself.”  
“I’m so sorry.”  
Dave nods. He doesn’t meet your eyes “I don’t want to go home. I want to stay here.”  
You shake your head “We can’t stay.”  
“Why not?”  
“Because we’ll turn into Edelwoods.”  
“We’re already dead.”  
“No…we’re different. They call us ‘warm bodies’, Dave, that means we’re alive.”  
“So what? I don’t want to go home.”  
Dave can’t hold it in. One, small sob leaks from the corner of his mouth before he smothers it against his mouth with his hand.  
“I want to stay with Karkat.”  
“Karkat wanted to kill us.” you say firmly.  
Dave looks at you. His eyes are like red stones under rushing, clear water “You don’t believe that, do you?”  
Do you?  
You trusted him, and look at where that got you. Lost, down one eye, with a little brother declaring he would rather stay in this world reserved for the dead than to be alive. He definitely made this trip through the Unknown with the specific intention of serving you and your brother up to the darkness as a snack, to fulfil some selfish purpose. Probably to break his curse.  
And yet…  
The way he fought back there, the way he screamed. You couldn’t tell him from Dave, you remember. Either of them were as afraid as each other, as terrified to see you tortured and mutilated. From the very start, he may have been misleading you. But he has also been protecting you with every scrap of his strength. If there is any way for people in this place to die, then Karkat was prepared to die for you when he was protecting you from the corpses.  
You’re never going to forget what he looked like when he stood in front of you, a rock in hand, actually growling as the corpses advanced. Looking for all the world like a dog defending its master. A master defending its dog.  
“I don’t.” you whisper.  
Dave makes another futile attempt to get his eyes dried “So let’s go back.”  
“No.”  
“Why not?” he snaps “He deserves our trust!”  
“Dave, no matter what you say and no matter how I feel…Karkat did almost have us killed. I can’t risk you around him.”  
“You’re just afraid that he’s gonna-”  
“You’re damned right I’m afraid!”  
“Let me finish!” shouts Dave, startling his frog “You’re just afraid that Karkat’s gonna wanna take care of you properly! You’re afraid he’s gonna get close and stay close and it’s gonna hurt like crazy if he ever turns on you.”  
“News flash, little man. That just happened.”  
“But it didn’t. He wanted to save us.”  
You sigh “I’m not gonna argue with you. I’m just gonna keep walking. If you want, you can go back and find Karkat and try to catch up to me. But I’m not looking for him. In fact, if I see him again, I’ll kill him.”  
Dave shakes his head in a loathsome kind of wonder “I really hate you sometimes.”  
Painfully, you stand “I know.”  
You make for the path. Dave gets up and trots behind you.  
“This is exactly what Bro would do.”  
You don’t have anything to say to that.

When it rains, it pours. Literally. At any moment you feel the rain might turn to snow. The winds are already cold enough as it is and every now and then, a strain of song is blown towards you. You need to get Dave off the roads. You need to sleep, if you can, to find something to dull the incredible pain. Honestly, you’re not sure how you have managed to keep moving. If you weren’t certain death would be a consequence of slowing down, you likely would have assumed foetal position a few miles back.  
“Dave.”  
He doesn’t respond to you. He hasn’t talked to you since the first time you stopped, although, whenever you stumble from the pain, he materialises at your side to prop you up until the stab of pain abates.  
“See the house up there?”  
You point towards an old, but well-kept house hidden away in the trees by the corner of the path, where it forks. A house nestled between the prongs of a crossroads. There is one, buttery light framed in a low window towards the front of the house.  
“If something goes wrong…you just run.”  
His face brightens a little bit. It’s obvious who he’s thinking about. You too are wishing you had Karkat’s sharp tongue and know-how with you. Night is nowhere near close to falling, but that doesn’t mean that things will not go badly for you.  
From now on, it’s just a question of how long you can keep Dave alive.


	25. The sins of our fathers (and why they follow us)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who was the two-faced psychopath? Everyone's favourite two-faced psychopath, that's who. Kudos to everyone who guessed it, and for those of us who have no idea what I'm talking about?  
> Juggalo. That's all that needs to be said.

Your name is Dirk Strider and something strange happens as you mount the front step of the cross-roads house. No sooner than you have put a foot on the step does your pocket sag and become as heavy as if it were filled with stones. You stumble a little, and Dave is there to act as a crutch. As quickly as the weight appeared, it disappears. You are able to straighten up again as easily as if there was never anything wrong.  
“What was that?” asks Dave.  
“Dunno.”  
Cautiously, you test your weight on your leg and are relieved to see that it doesn’t buckle.  
“Have you got a fever?”  
You shake your head, deciding that you’re going to lie about your injury at every opportunity “It doesn’t even hurt that much.”  
Dave is appropriately sceptical “Really?”  
“Yeah. Let’s knock.”  
Dave knocks for you. You hear it echoing on what sounds like an empty room. There is no sound of a chair scuffing backwards or footsteps making their way to the door, which is kind of relieving, after your last experience trying for shelter in a stranger’s house.  
As the two of you wait on the doorstep, a snowflake spirals past your nose.  
Dave looks up with a grimace “Aw…oh…”  
You’re thinking about Karkat too, in his thin summer clothes. You can’t forget what it felt like to have him pressed up against you when he was unconscious, shivering as if every scrap of warmth in his body were being stolen. You may not be able to forget it, but you can certainly ignore the memory. So you do.  
“Let’s just go inside,” suggests Dave.  
“You sure?”  
“We should be good at this kind of shit by now.”  
You can’t argue with that. Dave tries the knob, then pushes the door open onto a dimly lit room. Candles are mounted in puddles of their own wax all over the floor, lining the walls like skirting board. The ceiling is low and draped in thick curtain- kind of like the threads were at Adelaide’s. rather than being like a web, these curtains look like they might be brushed away with little in t way of trouble. They are there to catch drafts, not any little boy and his big brother that might wander in, or their cardinal friends. The furniture is sparse, which is to say that there is none except for a wide table in front of a glowing hearth, with a few barrels beside it.  
Half of you expects to peer inside the barrel and see it full of human remains, or ragged clothing, or something like that. Instead, it is full of green stuff. Leaves and plants and the odd, puckered flower-bud.   
“Looks safe to me,” mutters Dave.  
You reach for his shoulder to usher him in, but he pulls away from you and steps to the side. He waits until you’re inside too, then shuts the door against the snow and cranes for the bolt just out of his reach.  
“Let me.”  
“No.”  
He jumps and snags the side of the slide, and manages to get the bolt to scoot shut in one vicious swipe.  
“Got it.”  
The frog croaks in what seems to be a smug triumph.  
Your legs are like water. Feeling the last of your strength ebbing from your limbs, you lower yourself to the floorboards and sit back, sighing with relief as the weight is taken from your legs. You have been tired before. The way in which one can only be tired after being kept awake for hours and hours, for several days, by the harsh demands of school-work and a parent combined. You have been tired, as in waking up from being beaten unconscious tired, which is a special, insidious type of tired that clings to a person like sand will to wet skin.  
This must be what it feels like when a person dies on the operating table, and wakes up the next day in a hospital bed.  
“Dave, come here.”  
Dave stays where he is. He glances towards the far wall, at a door that seems to lead to a basement. He’s just looking at it for something to look at other than you, which should make you mad. It doesn’t.  
You have no right to be mad at him, after what you’ve done.  
“Fine. Just listen…when Adelaide took out my eye (feels like you’re referring to the most grisly part of his favourite fairy tale, not real, not at all) I saw…I mean, I think I woke up. For just a little while.”  
“You’re dead. We’re dead.”  
“No we’re not, little man, but we’re close.”  
Dave’s face crumples in what might be either fear or relief “How close?”  
“We’re drowning right now.”  
“I’m drowning too?”  
“I don’t know. How much do you remember?”  
Dave’s face grows sour again “I remember you got up on the railing and jumped over. And then I went over after you ‘cos…just cos. And then I was awake and we were here. I thought maybe you got us to shore? And we were just washed down a little way. Into a weirder place than we’d ever been to before. I thought we…I thought we were ok for a little while, but then when we got to Pottsfield…you know. Then I knew we were dead.”  
“We’re not dead,” you insist “We still have a chance.”  
He smiles a wry smile- one that someone as young as he should not be able to produce “What did you see when you were alive again?”  
“Jake.”  
Immediately, you understand what he’s getting at. How do you make him understand, though, that you know what you’re talking about? You knew where you were. You knew you were alive. You felt it in your chilled veins and your freezing nerves- the rush of panic, of energy that a body supplies when it knows its only got a few minutes to choose between life and death, and very little in the way of wiggle room.  
“You’ve been thinking about Jake, right? You just saw what you wanted to see-”  
You cut him short “Listen, Dave, I’ve gotta believe that we still have a chance. If not, then we might as well just go back to Adelaide’s and let her do what she wants to us.”  
“I want to go back to the Inn,” he says stubbornly, and the frog croaks after him “See? Kanaya wants to as well.”  
“Kanaya?” where is he getting this shit from? “Well Kanaya’s a frog, so their vote doesn’t count.”  
Dave rolls his eyes “She’s a girl. A human girl. She got cursed too.”  
You cock an eyebrow. At this point, you’d be willing to believe anything, except for the fact that Dave is desperate to punish you for leaving Karkat behind, so he’s liable to be making this up to make himself seem more credible. Still, you don’t want to argue with him. Because of you, your little brother may or may not be swallowing gallons and gallons of water a measure of feet beneath the surface of a dirty, churning river. You owe him one.   
“Fine, but I’m the oldest and what I say goes.”  
“Tyrant.”  
You lay back on the floorboards “Sure, little man.”  
“Fascist.”  
“Do you even know what that means?”  
Dave sits down where he is and crosses his arms, sullen “It means you’re…you’re fat, right?”  
“Again, fat is an observation, not an insult.”  
“Whatever.”  
A heavy silence settles. Or, begins to settle, but does not get the chance to settle completely as the door that Dave was staring at earlier springs open and a boy almost exactly between yours and Dave’s ages steps out. His arms are full of those human remains you were expecting- a bundle of clean-picked bones.  
Gasping, he drops the bones in his arms. His hands cross over his chest, as if shielding him from a blow that is about to be thrown. A second passes like this, frozen, as the bones clatter over each other and roll off in several direction.  
Then Dave says “Nice bones.”  
The boy sputters “Uh, thanks.”  
He’s young. Eridan’s age, probably, with a halo of fluffy black curls that would have made you want to trust him immediately at the start of this trip. His eyes are wide in fear, shock, and are an interesting shade of purple, a tad more vibrant than the colour of Eridan’s eyes. Maybe they’re related? That would be fun, wouldn’t it?  
The boy’s arms twitch compulsively. Seemingly against his will, his knees buckle and either hand reaches in different directions for a bone. He begins to gather them up.  
“Where’d you get those from?” you ask, pleasantly enough.  
From the look he’s giving you, your scar is a whole lot uglier and bloodier than you think.  
“I won’t bite. Will you?”  
The boy tucks a curl behind his ear nervously “Nah. Not my way, bitin’ folks.”  
“Are we safe here or not? It’s snowing, like, a lot, out there, and my brother just had his eye stolen. Are you gonna hurt us?”  
“Me? Nah. Not me.”  
“Then who?” presses Dave.  
“Ya know, y’all could do the polite thin’ an’ get yer help on. These are a lotta bones, all up an’ over my floor.”  
Obediently, Dave scoots over and retrieves a few ribs that he hands to the boy. You want to get up to help them, or else, loom over the boy and make it clear that you’re still capable of protecting Dave, even with an eye socket freshly emptied.  
But that would require movement and movement means slightly more pain than just sitting around will cause. So you stay where you are, keeping a sharp (lone) eye on Dave and the boy for signs of foul play.  
They finish picking up the bones quickly and the boy goes to the door. He glances at you as he passes and again, he flinches, but he doesn’t remark on the condition of your face. Pushing the door open with his back, the boy heads out into the falling snow, over to a bin underneath a tree that you had not noticed before. He opens the lid with his foot and dumps his load into the bin. There is a deep sound of clattering and crashing. That thing is a lot deeper than its size suggests.  
Quickly, you exchange a glance with Dave.  
“Code Usain?” you ask.  
He bites his bottom lip “Let’s see.”  
“Sounds good.”  
Dave crosses the room and sits beside you. If it weren’t for the injury, he would probably get into your lap.  
“You scared?”  
He shakes his head “We can take him, if we need to.”  
“Whose bones do you think those are?”  
“Maybe he’s a collector. I have a pet rock at home.”  
You smile “I used to have a rock farm when I was your age.”  
“Bro made you get rid of it?”  
Your smile falters, of course “Good guess.”  
“Same thing happened to your horse. The ragged guy. You still had him when I was little, right? E- something. Eric. No, wait, that’s the prince from ‘The Little Mermaid’…you know the guy I mean?”  
Something stirs at the back of your mind. A strange idea. A sad idea. Quickly, you push it back and away and forget about it completely, for now.  
“No,” you lie “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
The boy comes back, his dark cheeks flushed red from the cold. He claps his hands awkwardly “So! I gotta keep at this! Uh, the bones, that is. I got me a fuck-ton of work ta do, but I ain’t heartless. Cold as a witch’s tit out there. Stay the night, if y’all want. And you, friend, you better go search them barrels (he nods towards the plants) and find somethin’ fer the pain. Know what yer lookin’ for?”  
As he talks, he’s sort of creeping sideways towards the open door of the basement. He can’t seem to help it. He doesn’t really seem to notice that he’s moving, either, like it is something he just cannot help but do and has long since stopped resisting.  
It’s actually kind of funny. Like an involuntary moon-walk.  
“Nope.”  
“Oh,” the boy’s face falls “Well, here, it looks like…it’s pointy. It’s soft an’ ferny.”  
“That’s…that’s not going to help me very much. I’m fine. Do you need help with something?”  
The boy has now, very casually, backed down the stairs to the basement while clinging white-knuckled to the banister “Nah. I’m good.”  
Dave gets up and follows him down the stairs. He pauses on the first, turning, pale, and announces “Bones! Lots of bones!”  
The boy responds from within the depths of the cavernous basement “Nah, little bro, this ain’t nothin’. Y’all should see the catacombs un’ner’neath Pottsfield. That place is all kindsa messed up.”  
Pottsfield.  
You reach into your pocket and close your fingers around Loz’s bell for the first time in a long time. You had almost forgotten it was there.   
With an incredible effort, you get to your feet and follow Dave and the boy into the basement. Like Dave before you, you hesitate on the front step of the short staircase. Shelves of bones like books in a library. Stretching on far ahead of you, at least by a hundred feet before it curves around and disappears from sight. You glance to your left and see that the other side of the corridor of bones curves too. A long, deep tunnel crowded with the remains of strangers.  
“Fun for the whole family,” you mutter under your breath.  
“Uh, what’s wrong with you?” asks Dave cautiously “Not to be mean, but you’re moving weird.”  
The boy smiles lazily and indulgently. He picks bones from the shelves and tosses them into a crate, sometimes missing it completely. The way he moves suggests he’s totally into his work, but his face is that of a person who would much rather be slouched on his back, just chilling. His fingers are a mess of callouses. The bags under his eyes are deep, and he blinks so slowly that each time he seems in danger of falling asleep. If he even needs to sleep.  
“It ain’t nothin’ I ain’t earned.”  
You know that line from somewhere. Used to play in the back of your mind every time your father struck you, deprived you of something or locked you in a room for the night. Used to be your philosophy, until you opened up a little bit to Jake and realised that not absolutely everything you did was worthy of immediate and violent contempt.  
You stand up “Need some help?”  
The boy looks surprised.  
“Uh…” is all he manages before the front door bangs open.  
His eyes widen in panic. Acting on instinct, you leap lightly from the front steps, to the side, concealing yourself behind the wall and the door. The jar of the landing is about enough to make you want to pass out, but you cling to your consciousness with stubborn nails and beckon for Dave, who rushes to join you. Once you’ve got him, you tuck yourselves underneath the stairs and slip a hand over his mouth, and put another one on the frog, trying to channel to it your need that it stays quiet.  
“Gamzee!” booms a voice from the front door “Where you at, son?”  
“Here!” chirps the boy.  
You are shocked and impressed by how smoothly he speaks. As if he’s really got nothing to hide. He sends you and Dave one cautionary glance before he walks a funny, lopsided walk upstairs that makes it look like he’s being pulled by the collar out of the basement. When he’s gone, you’ve got nothing to do but peer out from the gloom at the stretching caverns of bone.  
God, this sucks. This sucks so bad.  
Dave shivers in your arms.  
Upstairs, there is the sound of heavy footsteps crossing the floor, to meet a trail of reluctant and scuffling feet.  
“How you been?”  
“Fine.”  
“Fed yerself?”  
“Yessir.”  
“Work done?”  
“Almost done, sir, just got me these bones to get through an’ I’m all done.”  
You hear a shuddering sigh that might be of relief or fear. It seems to come from the man that has just come in who, going by the sound of his voice, is massive.  
“That ain’t good, is it?”  
The pause hangs heavy in the air. You’re waiting for the last words to be punctuated with a slap. The man’s tone of voice isn’t exactly like the deadly, poisonously angry one you are accustomed to hearing before your father makes his fists useful. But the words. What the hell else could be doing, if not threatening his apparent son?  
You turn to the side, looking for Karkat, to see if he’s thinking the same thing. Then to your other side, when you don’t find him at first. Then you catch yourself and feel stupid, angry and guilty in a dizzying wave that makes you bury your face in Dave’s hair. This disrupts the emotional turmoil with a nice, grounding rip of blinding pain from your eye-socket, which is good.  
“I hate to leave you like this. You know that, yeah?”  
“Yeah.”  
“This is fer yer own good.”  
“Keepin’ me from wickedness.”  
The man’s voice grows dark and tired “There’s more wickedness in the world than y’all know, kid. Here’s hopin’ that you ain’t never gonna see that.”  
Their voices go quiet again and the howl of the wind, the sound of the snow rushes to fill the empty space. You cradles Dave silently and wish with half of your strength that there was another body squeezed into this gaping space at your side. The other half goes to hoping that said body is being buried with snow, being frozen into the earth so that this time he will die.   
“S’pose I better give you somethin’ else ta do, huh? But first, why don’t we have a look at them bones.”  
Dave grips your arms so tightly that his little fingers tear red furrows into the flesh. It’s actually a relief to have a different pain to focus on for a moment.   
A foot comes down in front of your face. Briefly, your mind jumps back to another time when you opened your eyes to see the sole of a boot coming down to meet your face. Only that time, instead of landing on a stair inches from your face, it made contact and broke your nose for the first time. To this day, your nose is still a little bit crooked from the encounter. The man is not as big as you first thought. In fact, as he descends the step, you see he is actually quite slim. Shaped like a sapling.  
“Oh,” you breathe into Dave’s hair “Graa’ant Makara.”  
The Shaman, whose dead’s son’s bell is in your pocket. Meaning that this must be his family home, either that, or he’s got a little house tucked away where he uses young children as servants for his dirty work. But no, that’s not right. You watch the boy trot after him. For once, the boy is able to move smoothly and seemingly of his own will. He looks perfectly happy to follow the man and has even knotted his fingers in the back of the man’s cloak. He glances back at you and flashes a small, but bright smile under the stairs.  
His face is remarkably like the man’s- his father’s. The same curly hair and dark skin. He’s even got the same impressive cheekbones buried underneath fading baby-fat. Without the cloak swallowing up most of his shape, you see that you were right to guess that the Shaman would be stopping traffic in your world.  
He’s beautiful.  
Also, he’s poring over the selection of bones in the crate with the critical eye of an expert.  
“How many y’all got rid of today?”  
“Damn-near filled up the crate.”  
“Mm. We’re gonna need more space, boy, the rate these poor fuckers are driftin’ up ta our door. Keep at it.”  
The boy stiffens “But I been here for hours. Since y’all left me yesterday! I been down here-”  
“Gamzee,” says the Shaman sternly “I ain’t lookin’ fer a debate. I’m tellin’.”  
He retrieves something from his pocket. You’ve got one of your own. A small, silver bell, warped in shape. He rings it and a glow issues from the thing. It reminds you of the Woods-Woman’s lantern. The glow quickly envelops Gamzee. He goes all slack, his eyes hollowed out and glowing with the same sterile white light.  
The Shaman’s voice deepens to a tone that makes you want to cover Dave’s ears “The ringing of the bell commands you.”  
“Yes.” Gamzee’s voice is dry and cracked.  
The toll of the bell echoes through the loop of the tunnel like a gong being struck. Each strike shudders through you- right through your bones. The bell in your pocket grows hot in response and is almost burning through your cloak by the time the last peal finally fades into silence. Sighing, the Shaman stows his weapon and ruffles his exhausted son’s hair almost fondly.  
“I got work too. I’m gonna be in my office fer the next day or so. If I get through with these spells a little early, we’ll see about trying the new salve fer yer hands. How’s that sound?”  
“Sounds shit,” says Gamzee sourly.  
He has begun to inch to the bones, again, against his will, and his hands open and close compulsively.  
“I know, child. I don’t like this any more than y’all do, but we gotta keep that there wickedness at bay. Yeah?”  
“Yeah.” mumbles Gamzee “Welcome home, Daddy.”  
The Shaman kisses his forehead and leaves, closing the basement door behind him. Gamzee stoops and sets about picking the greyest and oldest skulls off the shelf and placing them into the crate. Once Dave hears the footsteps of the Shaman dwindle into silence in the depths of the house, he frees himself from your grip and crawls out to meet Gamzee.  
“Need some help?”  
Gamzee shrugs “It don’t bother me much. I’m used ta this.”  
The bell has begun to cool in your pocket. For some reason, you don’t feel like mentioning it. Seems like something that can wait to be discussed.  
“So….so every time he orders you at something with that bell, you have to listen?” asks Dave cautiously.  
“Keeps me from wickedness.”  
Dave scoffs “You know parents just say that because they don’t have a good reason for making you do stuff, right?”  
Gamzee would have paused here, had been able to stop working for a moment. But the magic compels his little hands to keep working away busily, as he looks at Dave with a fresh, delicate kind of hope in his eyes. He bites his bottom in a very familiar way, then glances the length of the tunnel, as if expecting his father to be hiding around one of the corners.  
“If we get this done before your dad can come back with more work…could you leave?” suggests Dave.  
Gamzee’s dark skin turns to the colour of flour, but his mouth hitches up at the sides in a little, tentative grin “I reckon.”  
“Ok. Come on Dirk, help us get this done.”


	26. It keeps happening- the bad things, that is

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The question I pose to the readership is this- how much more shit are they gonna go through before this is over?

Your name is Dirk Strider and you are kind of glad of the monotonous work.  
It has been almost three hours since you and Dave began to help the boy, Gamzee. In that time, the two of you have kept yourself close to the basement stairs in case you need to dart under them again, to hide from the Shaman. Whoever said that thing about many hands making work light knew what they were talking about. What’s better is that Gamzee seems to know it. A little, shy smile has quirked the corner of his mouth up since you started working. He is content to work in a comfortable silence, but just as content to speak when Dave addresses him. They’re acting like old friends already.   
Dave has made a habit of that- making new friends fast and well, in this place. It’s a marked contrast to the introverted child you walk to school with every morning. The closer he gets to the school, the quieter he becomes, even asking to go home sometimes. When you and Jake pick him up for the walk home, he is barely recognisable as your brother. More like a pale, tight-lipped shadow that only begins to brighten once the gates of the school are out of sight. You expect there are some cruel things said about his delicately white skin, and his snowy hair and bloody eyes. Certainly, you had to deal with plenty of that until you hit high-school, and your appearance graduated from being a deformity to being extremely and ridiculously attractive. It is probably what convinced Jake to go out with you when you asked him, now that you think about it.  
You long to pull Dave over and tell him how proud you are of him for how he has handled this. How he has actually managed to blossom and grow here. To tell him that, if it weren’t for his chipper, stubbornly hopeful presence constantly at your side, you probably would have laid down in the woods and allowed an Edelwood to grow around you long ago.   
But he doesn’t want to talk to you. And these are just the thoughts that make up the background chatter as your mind drifts from its troubles, as manual labour will cause most minds to. While you sort through these bones, selecting and presenting what you think are the oldest to Gamzee’s scrutiny, to either bin them or keep them, you just think about a lot.   
About what Jake is doing right now- how he’s going to feel if the Unknown manages to claim you (will it be relief that he is finally free of you, or guilt that he couldn’t save you, and if both, then it what order?). You think about the man in your closet and wonder why he was ever interested in you, when there were a surplus of more vibrant children for him to prey upon in the world. You think about your mother, where she is and the like. Why she left you, which is not something you often consider. As a younger child, you assume she recognised the inherent flaws in your character after she gave you a brother and decided it was all she could do for you. Now that you re-think it as an older and more experienced son, you guess it was because she knew your father was an abusive basket-case, and left her sons with him because it was the easiest option.  
Slippery bitch.  
The one thing you do your best to avoid devoting any attention to is Karkat.   
You just can’t touch that one, right now. Not with a ten-foot pole.  
“Gamzee!” you make sure to keep your voice soft, fearful of attracting the Shaman from upstairs “This shelve is all done! This whole side!”  
Gamzee straightens up “We’re almost done.”  
He’s got this almost depraved look in his eye. His hands are trembling from nerves, excitement, or all of the above. You wonder how long it has been since he was able to stop labouring under the bell’s curse. Maybe there is something you can do for him, with your twin of the bell? Compared to the one that the Shaman used, yours is old and scuffed to hell, and probably broken. But still, it might be able to work some of its old magic. You’ll see what Gamzee thinks once you’re done with this task and you all have the time to breathe.  
You join Gamzee and Dave at the front of the hall. Less than half of a shelf is left to categorise and then Gamzee’s task is done.   
Dave, too, seems excited to have this so close to being done. He has begun to chat to Gamzee rather candidly about your own father. A lot more freely than you would like, in fact, but you don’t make a move to stop him. Instead, you just apply yourself to the task and listen to them talking.  
Dave hands Gamzee an old, beaten rib “When Dirk gets sick, our Bro won’t give him any medicine for at least a day. Then he gets all mad and he talks about how Dirk’s body needs to be strong enough to do that kind of shit on its own.”  
You wince, then wince at the resulting stab of pain from your eye, and hand another bone down to Gamzee.  
Gamzee cocks an eyebrow “Really? My ol’ man don’t ever stop givin’ me stuff. He always tryin’ this an’ that ta get the wickedness outta me, but it ain’t never worked. Ain’t never gonna, either.”  
“Wickedness…” repeats Dave, sampling the flavour. He’s never heard your father use that one on you before. He naturally assumes that anything your father calls you by is some kind of slur, so it’s disturbing to him now to find a word of such obvious power and not know what it means.  
“I got a wicked spirit,” says Gamzee simply.  
You swallow a foul curse. Is this what you looked like, as a young child? Hunched and defeated and so, so small, little more than a bag of bones and misery, just utterly harassed and exhausted by life? It must be.  
You must be worse than you will allow yourself to see, if you were willing to jump off a bridge to end that. If you were a different kind of person, you might think this little jaunt is punishment for attempting suicide in the first place. But, considering the circumstances in which you were raised, you can’t help but think that it shouldn’t work like that. If someone is well and truly miserable, then it’s their choice to make, then later to regret or appreciate. That doesn’t mean that if it were Dave tossing himself off the railings that you wouldn’t have hurled yourself at him, done anything in your power to save him.  
It’s just that…  
This doesn’t feel like death.  
Not punishment, just difficulty. You’re here to be shown something, not to be taught something.  
God, you wish you knew what it was. A sudden cramp of pain has you doubling up. You are surprised to find that the pain is centralised in your stomach this time.  
You start to cough, muffling it in your sleeve.  
Dave looks at you, and Gamzee twists his head painfully to make sure that you’re not dying on him.  
“I’m fine, boys. Dry throat.”  
To give yourself some privacy to hack, you retreat just around the corner and sink to your knees, coughing and coughing. You can’t stop. Your throat spasms painfully, and something is scratching the inside of it. Finally, you peel your mouth away from your cloak and manage to bring something up into your hand. A small piece of bark lands in your palm, along with a few wet curls of leaf.   
You stare in shock.  
What were you doing, eating leaves in your sleep? This is weird. This is just too weird.  
Maybe you’re…no.  
Nope.  
You’re not even going to allow that to approach anything close to a coherent thought, lest it take root properly in your mind and become a real, genuine threat.  
Dave is peering around the corner “You ok?”  
Quickly, you wipe the debris onto the floor “I told you, little man, just had a frog in my throat.”  
“Don’t eat Kanaya,” then Dave remembers he doesn’t like you right now and frowns at you, turning away “Come back already. We’re nearly done.”  
In five more minutes, you are done. Gamzee hefts the last box of bones up and creeps towards the front door. You and Dave follow him, with frequent glances up the stairs where the Shaman works. Gamzee stumbles a little as he steps into the snow and nearly drops the box. Dave seizes the dipping corner and helps him carry it to the crate, nearly full by now. Watching the boys with one eye, you edge over to inspect the barrels that are still full with the green you saw coming in. You aren’t really thinking about trying to suss out which one is the painkiller that Gamzee first recommended – the second Gamzee is ready to go, the literal second, you’re getting him out of here. How could you do anything else but just run with the kid, when you know exactly what it’s like to be told about how having a wicked spirt makes you deserving of punishment?  
You’re just kind of curious. On the table, a book lies open that you did not notice before. The book is thick and old and worn, but the page it is open to is covered in handwriting both new and faded. It surrounds a series of diagrams of small human figures. Each human figure was drawn in ink a long time ago, and has a small, pencilled in shadow floating over them, with a jagged white space left in what might be the heads to serve as a grin.  
What the heck is this supposed to mean? You’re not sure, but you are interested in finding that painkiller, so you flip over a couple of pages and stop on one that feels lucky. On this one, a hideous illustration grimaces up at you. Several faces, all worked into the woody body of a single, hideous, glowering thing with a fan of horns as wide as a spread of a large tree’s branches. You swallow nervously. Around it in a sprawling, flowery script, the lyrics to that song the Beast sang to you and Dave is etched. The same one you found written in the pocket of your borrowed cloak.  
Beneath it is another little note, in that new handwriting: ‘saw It today. It keeps the company of the same woman. The same girl that disappeared before G was born. Confirmed as the missing twins. Will inform the others at the Inn at the earliest convenience. Concerned for two newbies (smelled like warm bodies, but had the others fooled as wraiths), the Beast may be after them for food or for vessels.’  
And that’s it.  
Several things about this note make you want to tear it up and eat the pieces. For one, the drawing. It is too good. It was drawn by someone who had the time and cause to really look at the Beast and get to know his shape. Acting on intuition, you flip to the front cover of the book and see, sure enough, the faded name ‘Adelaide’, signed as an author would autograph a book, and underneath that, the Shaman’s name. Like you needed more reason to hate this guy, but finding out that he is or was a disciple of that insane woman’s? You might commit arson again. You just might.  
Secondly, he mentioned you. You and Dave- and he knows what you are. What does that talk of ‘vessels’ mean?  
Nothing makes sense to you, but it all scares you worse than it scared you before.  
“We’re done!” calls Dave from outside, then he adds “Whoa, Gamzee, are you ok?”  
You have barely had the time to look up before you hear a familiar, deep voice growling from the stairs.  
The Shaman stands on the stairs, his eyes wide and angry “You. How did you get here?”  
“Uh.”  
“Where the hell is my son?!”  
Dave screams outside. You rush to the door, heedless of the man rushing with you, and see Dave is on his back while something giant, shadowed and vulgar hangs over him. Your first thought is the Beast.   
Your second thought is: what the fuck happened to Gamzee?  
Gamzee has changed. He has not grown, in fact, but is now suspended in the air by what look like puppet strings. Moving strands of black glue or something like it crawls from his mouth, over the surface of his skin, and his eyes are glowing, flashing through a dozen colours at a rate that makes you dizzy.   
“Oh fuckin’ hell,” grunts the Shaman “That’s fuckin’ wonderful.”  
“DAVE!”  
Dave scoots back as rapidly as he can, but one of those weird strings shoots out from Gamzee’s body and winds itself around his ankle.  
The knife is drawn and cutting through the thread before you are aware of having moved at all. Dave wraps his arms around your neck and clings as you dodge around the monster- the wicked spirit that Gamzee has changed into and his father.  
You can hear Graa’ant speaking in soft, careful tones “Keep it together, boy. Y’all were doin’ well. Y’all ain’t hurt no one yet. Just step on down. I know you can do it. Just calm down.”  
The voice that responds is eerily close and hair-raising “No bell, no calmin’.”  
He’s following you.  
“He’s following us!” shrieks Dave.  
“Hang on!”  
You leap over a fallen log and land with a jarring splash in a pond that you managed to miss in the dark. The cold is shocking, like wearing a suit made exclusively of needles, and the backs of your knees are jabbed by ice. Dave lets out another whimper as the ice touches him. You don’t have the time to get out of the pond, so you just back into it, with the ice-crisped sea-weed on the floor crunching underneath your feet.  
“Oh, God.”  
The monster advances. It moves slowly, enjoying the fear it has inspired.  
Dave can’t look away.  
“USE THE FUCKING BELL!” you bellow.  
“CAN’T!” comes the reply “I DIDN’T THINK I WAS GONNA FUCKIN’ NEED TA CONTROL HIM! JUST KEEP MOVIN’ WHILE I GET IT!”  
You howl in frustration, backing further into the water so that you are now waist-deep in a burning cold “WHAT FUCKING USE ARE YOU?!”  
The monster grins, and a long, forked tongue dribbles out from between its distended jaws “Been a while since I ate.”  
“What…what the fuck are you?”  
“The family pet!” crows the monster “Me and the Makaras? We go way back! Every new baby son means a new body for me! Gotta eat, we all gotta eat. I’m gonna eat you. Or should I go for the little guy first? Which one of you wants to watch?”  
You cover Dave’s eyes with one hand and risk peeling the other away from him for just a moment to throw the knife. In your panic, it doesn’t come anywhere close to hitting the monster, but instead thuds into the trunk of a tree (is it an Edelwood?) over its shoulder. The monster cackles.  
“I left Kanaya in the house,” rasps Dave into your neck “She’s gonna be all alone.”  
You back rams into a solid shelf of ice. To get up on it, you’d have to turn around and heave yourself up on it, and put your back to the monster. Might as well stick an apple in your mouth and lie down on a silver platter.  
You heft Dave up and out of the water, pushing him onto the ice.  
“Run to Karkat. Fast as you can.”  
Dave lets out a small sob and struggles to his feet. At the same moment that Dave manages to get to his feet on the snow-slippery ice, something turns unbearably hot in your pocket  
In a flash of inspiration, you draw the bell. The monster hunches it shoulders, preparing to dive. You see that he’s going to shoot right over you and get Dave.  
You thrust the bell into the air and cry “The ringing of the bell commands you!”  
The old, warped bell chimes beautifully and begins to glow like a clutch of fire-flies. The monster wheels back, as if deflected by the light and hisses.  
“Leave him! Get out of his body, get away from this family, and never come back!”  
The bell’s light turns to a harsh white stuff that sears through your eyelids as if you’re staring into the sun. A howl echoes through the air, almost like the one that Spades made as he left his house in soul, but much older. With much more evil and malice behind it. Another one of those grey lights whips out of Gamzee’s body and rockets up and out of the canopy of dark trees.  
Seconds later, Gamzee splashes into the water beside you. He is unconscious when he hits, but the temperature of the water quickly brings him back to reality. You reach out and grab him as he starts to flounder in the water, supporting his head.  
“Oh my Gog.” rasps the kid, his face flooded with tears “He’s gone.”  
“He’s gone?” yelps Dave.  
You breathe a heavy sigh of relief “He’s gone. Let’s get out of this water. Can you move, Gamzee?”  
Gamzee nods and starts a shaky return trip to the shore. Dave eases himself back into your arms, still sniffing, and lets you carry him back to the snowy bank of the pond. It takes both of them, one on either arm, to drag you out of the water. By the time they get you out, you’re blue lipped and the bandage has grown so water-logged it is useless. You tear it away without thinking. The pain has been numbed by the ice, which probably means you’re dying.  
Again, you are seized by the urge to cough and cough until your organs are all on the outside. The boys watch in helpless wonder as you bring up a few more wet and shredded leaves, still orange from autumn, but blackening around the tips from the winter.  
Finally, when your vision is blacking in and out and you’re beginning to hear the roar of rushing water in your ears, you are lifted from the cold floor and wrapped in another cloak.  
The Shaman stares down at you, his face awed and full of pity in equal measures.  
“Stay with me, son.”  
“Fuck you,” you say “I’m a grown man and I’ll do what I want. If I want to die, then I’m dying.”  
He laughs. You don’t think you’ve ever heard a laugh like that before – a father’s laugh.  
And then, thankfully, you pass out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Answer: well I just looked back over my story notes, and the answer is ' a lot'.


	27. “JUST DIE! JUST DIE!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan. All of the shit.

Your name is Dave Strider, and this last night has been kinda nice.  
Once you got past and over and through with all the monster stuff. You still miss Karkat like there’s an organ gone from your chest, and whenever you think about him your eyes start to burn. You can’t think about the crazy lady’s house without your hands shaking and your brain wanting to shut down completely so you don’t have to hear Dirk screaming in your head. Or about how helpless you were- she decided she was going to kill you and Dirk and Karkat, probably Kanaya too, which is basically your whole world, and you were only gonna be able to watch.  
You try not to think about it.  
Because Gamzee’s around, this last night has been nice. He’s the same age as Eridan, so that’s so old that he really shouldn’t want to be friends with you. Also he was a raving monster only a few hours ago that was gonna kill you and your brother and Kanaya, but now he’s good. He’s mostly just tired.  
When Dirk passed out, Graa’ant carried him back to the house without complaining. You and Gamzee staggered behind him in the snow, which has gotten really heavy over the last few hours.   
Once you were inside, he set your brother in front of the fire and wrapped the two of you up in towels. While you borrowed some of Gamzee’s dry clothes so your soaked stuff could dry, Graa’ant stripped Dirk off and covered him in some kind of magical stuff that made his lips turn back from blue to the normal, fleshy red, and chased all of the shivers out of his skin.  
Still, you were worried about him for a long time, so you lay beside him and got a little bit of sleep. Then he woke you up by rolling over and hugging you, hard. You wonder what he saw this time. If he saw anything.  
You kind of don’t want to ask. Right now, he’s talking to Graa’ant, probably about a way to get back home, and you’re happy to leave him there. You and Gamzee are playing with Kanaya in front of the fire, rolling a ball between you. She chases it up and down with that kind of indulgent silliness that other peoples’ parents sometimes put on when their kids want to play with them.  
Gamzee wants to know all about her “Where did she live?”  
“She says she lived at the mill where me and Dirk got our clothes from. The cloak Dirk has was her dad’s.”  
“Y’all gonna help her break the curse on her?”  
You shrug “She told me she doesn’t want to break it. She wants to stay this way.”  
The ball is hit a little too hard and rolls out of the way. Gamzee has to crane to reach it. Now, he moves smoothly and easily. He seems really happy to be the one in charge of his own body again. He told you a little bit about the curse- only as much as he knew, which isn’t that much. He says he’s still young. Too young to really know what’s happening to him, or why. Just that it’s really bad, that his father used to have it and his brother had it up until he himself was born.   
Passing the ball back to you, Gamzee furrows his brow in confusion “How’d she tell y’all, if she don’t talk?”  
“When I was asleep, at the Inn. She told me all about herself.”  
“I ain’t never been ta the Inn.”  
“Isn’t your dad gonna take you there now that you’re all better?”  
Gamzee nods, suddenly animated “Daddy tol’ me ‘bout all these things we were gonna do when I got all better. See, I ain’t got no motherfuckin’ control over these bad boys (he opens and closes his hands experimentally) when I got the wickedness all up in me, ‘cept now that I ain’t got that no more, I ain’t dangerous. Daddy had ta keep my hands busy an’ all, otherwise I woulda attacked him. An’ kilt him, maybe.”  
“Really?” you look over sceptically at the man that’s talking to your brother over by the barrels. They are sitting close to each other because Dirk’s getting a new bandage on, and the man makes your tall brother look really small. Almost as small as you are compared to your brother.   
You can’t imagine Gamzee almost killing the man. Or Gamzee even standing up to the man. On TV and in books and stuff, the main character’s parents are never really around. They’re either dead or just absent all the time. You always figured that the rest of the world, like you, liked to forget that they had parents.  
“Sure. He don’t like ta fight back, much, when I get all bad all over him. He don’t like hurtin’ me when I’m tryin’ ta hurt him.”  
You’re a little confused, but you nod. You never really thought about other people’s parents and how they treat their kids. At school, when people talk about their parents, they’re complaining about the lunches they give them or the games they won’t buy for them. Or bragging about their jobs. Or claiming that their dad can beat up someone else’s dad.  
Your dad could beat them all up. Kill them too, if he wanted to.  
“Your dad is really nice.”  
Gamzee nods happily “He has ta deal with a whole lotta shit from me. He did, I mean. But now we don’t gotta worry no more.”  
You wonder what it’s like not to have to worry about your father.

 

Your name is Dirk Strider, and the pain is numbed for the moment.  
The pain from your eye. Earlier it was an intense, concentrated animal of a thing, with long-reaching fingers it would spread throughout your body. Reaching for anything and everything it could rake its nails into. Then you woke up, naked, with this guy leaning over you with a fistful of green stuff in his palm. You did what any sane person would do and freaked out, punching him in the jaw.  
Since then, you have changed into a spare set of his dry clothes, which you are absolutely swimming in. You weren’t actually naked. No weird sex game was being played upon your prone, defenceless body. You had a blanket spread over you to conceal your modesty, and were placed near the fire so it could chase the cold out of your bones. The green stuff is some kind of Unknown equivalent of disinfectant for your mutilated face. From the moment the paste touched your eye, the pain has faded to a dull, manageable ache.   
You’ve survived plenty of beatings that had you limping away with innumerable bruises, blood in your mouth and in your ears and the like. Now that the pain has receded into a dull ache, it’s almost no worse than any other injury you have ever sustained before.  
Graa’ant has noticed how well you are bearing up under the pain “Normally when a brother loses an eye, they kick up a motherfuckin’ fuss ‘bout it.”  
“Yeah, well, normal people don’t last this long in the woods, do they?”  
“That’s true.”  
He is in the process of winding a fresh bandage around your eye. This one is soaked in the medicine that has numbed the pain, and will hopefully continue doing so. You might just claw a bigger hole in your eye, if you get it in your head to start scratching at the pain.  
“How do you know Adelaide?”  
There’s a sudden, compulsive urge in you to hurt the woman, or to hurt some extension to you. As a long pause stretches out, with Graa’ant leaning over you in your peripheral and securing the end of the bandage with a dab of adhesive, your hands curl into loose fists.  
“Used ta study under her. She was the one that designed that there bell.”   
He nods towards the dented old thing standing on the table. It is placed beside its twin- a much shinier, if still well-loved version that was used to control Gamzee’s demon. The way Graa’ant told it, his family has suffered a curse, like so many others, from the Beast. A way back down the line, an ancestor made a deal with the Beast that they failed to uphold their end of. As a result, the family was cursed. According to Graa’ant, every single baby-boy born since his grandmother’s generation has been possessed by an entity of pure malice. As the saying go, idle hands make the Devil’s work light. If the cursed boys weren’t busy every moment of the day, then their hands would find throats to choke and eyes to scratch out.   
Somehow, this line managed to continue, even with the apparent father of two cursed for about eighteen years. You’re not even going to try to guess what quirk of family systems or reproductive cycles allowed him to have a son to pass the curse onto, but it’s what happened. And a second one, when Loz was five (you’re having trouble imagining him as anything but that care-worn scare-crow you met), who took the curse from his big brother and has been suffering for the last eleven years.  
“She made it a whole lot easier on this family,” he continues “First, she whips up that motherfuckin’ charm over there, just ‘bout saves our lives so we ain’t gotta tie up our sick in the basement under wards no more. Next, she agrees ta take me in as an apprentice for a few years. Lemme tell y’all, that woman is insane. She’s a fuckin’…she just ain’t right. I mean, y’all know that. Y’all must know it well.”  
“We were lead to her…and the people at the Inn knew what we were getting ourselves into. Why the hell didn’t anyone tell us?”  
Gamzee and Dave look up in alarm as you raise your voice. Graa’ant waves them back to their game, which they return to without complaint. Although, Dave’s shoulders are now tensed up. He’s still on edge, even in this place that has proved so safe in the last few hours.  
Now, Graa’ant sits back to inspect his work. He looks it over with a practiced and critical eye, turning your chin once to look at it from another angle. Seems to like what he sees, because he doesn’t bother to make any corrections. You unclench your hands and relax just a little bit.  
“I guess they thought y’all knew what y’all was headin’ inta.” he sits back, satisfied “I sure did. Y’all seem like a competent pair of boys.”  
Cautiously, you touch the gauze lightly with the tips of your fingers. The reaction is not an immediate burst of pain, as you expect it to be. Instead, it’s a mild prickle of discomfort that leaves as soon as you move your fingers away.   
You can deal with this.  
“We are, when we know what we’re doing. But I still have little to no idea of what this place is. I mean, I know…” you glance over at Dave, and drop your voice to a whisper that is barely audible over the crackle of the hearth “I know I’m drowning right now.”  
Graa’ant nods “Know how y’all got there?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Got a way to fix it?”  
“…yeah. I’ll figure something out.”  
“Ace. All we gotta do is get y’all outta here. Best you get goin’ now, then.”  
You glance out at the heavy snow falling “What, now? Into the snow?”  
“How much longer y’all gonna wait fer the Beast ta take y’all?” he narrows his eyes suspiciously “Listen, I didn’t wanna ask this, once I saw that he was all up an’ gone, but didn’t yer bird-boy friend, the Vantas, didn’t he tell y’all why the Beast was after y’all? He knows yer a warm body, yeah?”  
Your muscles seize up at the mention of Karkat, but somehow you manage to keep yourself from punching the table “Yes, he knew.”  
“And he still took you to Adelaide?”  
“If you’re getting at that he wanted to sell us to her for his freedom, then you’re right,” you say stiffly through a clenched jaw “But he’s not on the scene anymore.”  
Graa’ant sighs almost imperceptibly. He reaches over and straightens the blanket around your shoulders. You almost punch him again, pre-emptively, afraid he’s about to pop you in the mouth for some slight. But, no, and you have to start learning the difference between the beginnings of an affectionate gesture and a punch. Maybe things would have been easier with Jake if you didn’t flinch like a wounded dog every time he reached for you.  
“See that he stays that way.” says Graa’ant in a clipped tone.  
Dave clears his throat loudly and shoots the both of you a poisonous glance that makes you want to ruffle his hair fondly. Also, shout at him for still standing by that fucking guy. What does Karkat have to do to lose his love, take out your other eye with his own hands?  
On that note, it would be kind of good if Karkat did that to you. Then you’d at least stop feeling guilty about leaving him.   
“You really want us to leave?” you ask, desperate to distract yourself from the thoughts of him “What good will that do us?”  
Graa’ant puts a hand over your stomach and presses at it with the practiced skill of a doctor “Listen, y’all got something germinatin’ in yer belly. Y’all ain’t got much time ta get outta here. Consider every second y’all got as precious as gold. It is gold. In fact, it’s even more precious.”  
“Time is dead kids?” you suggest airily.  
Graa’ant gives you an odd look “Don’t reckon that’s valuable but…but whatever floats yer boat, little brother. Now on that note, get the fuck out there. Just go.”  
An uncomfortable, tight feeling steals into your throat. A combination of panic and something else entirely new and unpleasant, like something is reaching up your throat “What’s in me?”  
“Where d’ya think them trees come from?”  
“The Beast’s victims…but he’s never been anywhere near me.”  
Graa’ant shakes his head, almost sadly “He don’t need ta plant them seeds hisself. Y’all did that.”  
“How the hell-”  
“Y’all really trusted that boy, huh?”  
Your hands clench up into fists again. If only Dave wasn’t there, then you could shout your next words at this man, but force yourself to speak slowly and reasonably “Yes. I did. And I fail to see how that’s relevant to anything because I am never going to see him again.”  
“Losing hope makes an Edelwood. The tree grows from the inside in the poor fucker, an’ some of it grows on the outside, an’ the two sorta meet together in the middle.”  
“You mean…you mean the tree’s gonna eat me or something?”  
He nods.  
You look to the hearth, where Dave is silhouetted against the flames with his playmate. From the set of his jaws and shoulder, he’s heard a little more of this conversation than you want him to hear.   
You speak so softly you can barely hear yourself “What do I have to do to save him?”  
“Does he wanna go home?”  
“What the hell- of course he wants to go home! He’s safe at home.”  
“I ain’t sure that’s true.”  
You gnaw your bottom lip “Listen, it’s none of your business. He can’t stay here.”  
“Well he ain’t gonna stay here. The way it looks ta me, the Beast is after one ‘a yer bodies, an’ it’s gonna be his, the way y’all got something already spreadin’ roots in yer belly.”  
At these words, your stomach cramps randomly, like a little contraction. Groaning, you double your knees up to your chest and do your best to ignore it.  
Graa’ant observes this with a frown “There’s still a chance that both ‘a y’all can make it out.”  
“How?”  
“Y’all said y’all were drownin’, but in what?”  
“A river.”  
“So go to the river and try it again. Hold yer breath and go to the bottom, turn around, an’ if yer lucky, when y’all surface, it’s gonna be in that first river where y’all almost kissed it all goodbye.”  
The thought of it makes you shudder. When you shudder, the tightness in your belly shudders too, and its grip strengthens just a little bit more. That’s enough for you.  
You stand “Dave, we’re going.”  
“Are we?” he stands slowly, collecting his frog to him “In the snow?”  
“Yeah, in the snow.”  
He turns to Gamzee “Well I guess I gotta go freeze to death with my brother now. It’s been nice meeting you.”  
Gamzee beams “Y’all too. Thanks fer savin’ my ass. We’re such stupid shits around here, I don’t think we’d’ve never thought ‘a usin’ the fuckin’ bells ta save our asses!”  
They shake hands like little adults. Gamzee’s face clouds briefly with thoughts. He goes over to the table and scoops up the old bell.  
“Hey, Daddy.”  
“What?”  
“Do a backflip,” he rings the bell gently “The ringin’ ‘a the bell commands y’all.”  
Nothing happens.  
Gamzee hands it over to Dave “It don’t work no more, since the wicked brother’s gone, but I reckon y’all could still use it. Make some noise if y’all ever lose each other or somethin’.”  
Dave accepts the bell earnestly and tucks it into his shirt, beside Kanaya the frog “Thanks. I’ll take good care of it.”  
“If Loz gave it ta y’all, I reckon he’d want y’all ta keep it.” he looks up at his father “Can we go by Pottsfield?”  
Graa’ant’s face grows troubled “We’ll see.”  
Gamzee hangs onto the hem of his father’s shirt and rocks back and forth on his heels absently. For a moment, he is completely lost in a child-like fog of fear and bewilderment. You only just now realise how cruel it must be to have Dave in front of him with his big brother (nearly) intact. Even if the two of you aren’t on good terms, for the first time in Dave’s life, you’re still brothers. You’re still going to put Dave’s wellbeing and ultimately, if it comes to it, his life over yours without hesitation.   
Gamzee’s lost that.  
He may have the caring father that Dave never will, but Dave has the big brother that he’s never going to get back. It’s a tentatively observed trade-off, but Gamzee seems to be accepting it better than you ever could, if you took Dave’s position. Knowing your selfish ass, you might give up Dave in hopes of having a father that would actually smile at you. Straighten a blanket slung sloppily around your shoulders. Teach you his profession so that you, too, someday would wear a deep cloak and spout strange advice to your passengers.  
And maybe, though he loved you and your other siblings very much, he would end up giving you up for another. And at the end of it all you would be left alone and cursed, with no hope of recovery and eventually, none of redemption.  
“Thank you for fixing my eye.”  
Graa’ant nods “Let’s get y’all back in yer own clothes.”  
You and Dave change in the basement, where it feels safe. You just don’t want to know what’s upstairs. These are nice, charming, helpful, cussy people, but you’d just rather not see what a Shaman keeps in his attic, now that you know what he keeps in his basement. The contents of the shelves grin and leer at you and Dave as you change.  
Graa’ant gives you nothing more than he has already given. No extra cloaks for the cold, nor a knife to protect yourself. Not even some kind of poultice, in case your emptied eye-socket decides to act up again. He merely opens the door for you, onto the sheets of snow coming down over what is already a buried landscape.  
As you’re passing through the door, following Dave, he catches your elbow and whisper “He’ll want the little one ta take hisself out. He’s done with the Unknown. There are bigger worlds ta seed his trees in.”  
You don’t need to ask him what he means. And you don’t look back at the house, either, even when you hear the door shut against the cold and the snow.  
“Where are we going?” Dave stifles a yawn messily “I’m tired. Why did we have to go? You afraid Karkat’s gonna show up or something?”  
“Don’t look at me like that.”  
“You sound like Bro.” there’s a wicked glint in his eyes, tempered by guilt, that suggests he knows exactly how hard it is to hear that out of his little mouth.  
“Don’t say that to me-”  
“Don’t make me say stuff like that.”  
“David! I don’t want to argue with you, ok? I’m tired and I’m in pain and I’ve been busting my ass to keep your little ass since we got here!” now that you’ve started, you can’t quite stop.   
The house is barely out of sight and already, you can feel that thing in your belly trying to come up your throat. The snow is heavy and thick, and the wind roars (is the Beast, is he roaring along with it, you wonder?) and cuts almost all the way through your cloak. Your eye does not hurt you, but it hurts your body and even with that pain repressed, your body knows it should be in pain. You can’t stop shaking. Your teeth are almost chattering.   
There’s an Edelwood growing inside you and all Dave can do is stare up at you, clutching his stupid amphibian, like he’s never seen anyone more worthy of his scorn.  
You don’t want to shout at him, so you don’t. You keep your voice perfectly measured.  
“Dave, I know I haven’t been in top form since we got here. And I know it’s my fucking fault we’re fucking here in the first place. But you know what? I also know you would have died at the mill if you didn’t have me. You would have died about a hundred times if it wasn’t for me, and I know you think you’re big and strong and powerful, and God, you are just about the most interesting and powerful person in the world that I know, but you’re just a child. You need protection. You need to be taken care of. And I’m just doing that the best way I can.”  
Angered by your refusal to shout, Dave raises his own voice “Karkat protected me too! You didn’t do all the work!”  
“Dave, I got my eye torn out because of him.”  
“So- so what! He was trying to save you!”  
“He didn’t. And now because of him, I might die.”  
You take his wrist. He resists you a little bit, but you manage to get his palm flat on your stomach. He immediately tries to draw back and gasps.  
“Feel that?” you have his hand pressed over a hard, horrible knot in your belly “That’s an Edelwood. That’s what he did to me.”  
“If- if that’s there, th-then it’s your own fault for losing hope!” suddenly, he tears his other hand from Kanaya and hits your shoulder “Why the hell did you have to jump off the bridge! Why do you have to pretend it’s all ok all the time? I know it’s not! I’m not stupid! I know Bro’s a fucking maniac and he beats you up every day and pretends it’s to make us stronger! I know he’s starving you! I know he hates you, ‘cos he hates me too! How come you never let me talk about it?”  
“I didn’t want you to-”  
“No, you didn’t want to talk! You know that I know!”  
How can you make him understand that’s just not true?  
He wrenches his hand away and hits your other shoulder “I can’t deal with you anymore! You’re just too sad and angry all the time and you never smile, like, really smile, ‘cos you can’t even be happy. You’re not even a real person!”  
Your stomach cramps painfully, suddenly, and you double up around your stomach. Dave lets out a cry of anguish, as if this confirms everything he was trying to communicate in the first place.  
“We should have run away, but instead, you just wanted to die! You were gonna l-leave me!”  
“Dave,” you wheeze “Please stop. You’re hurting me.”  
“Good!” he shouts “I hope you do die this time! Just die and leave me alone, since you want it so bad! I’m never going back home! You can’t make me! Just fucking die!”  
This time, as the pain of the growth in your stomach becomes unbearable, you are unable to pass out. In fact, you are one hundred percent completely conscious to roll over on your side and watch the world on a titled angle as Dave runs from you. He disappears so quickly into the snow you’d’ve thought him a ghost- a wraith- if you didn’t know who he was.  
“Dave!”  
“JUST DIE!” he repeats “JUST DIE! JUST DIE!”  
You call for him again and again, but there are no more responses. Just the howl of a wind.   
You lay on your back. The roots in your stomach have decide they want to be outside of your stomach. They begin to push and prod. Almost gently at first. Gradually, the pushing turns more insistent. Then demanding. Then it’s on the outside of you and you can’t even scream, with leaves bubbling up in your throat, unattached to a vine, thank God, but there’s just so many of them your throat might as well be choked and completely full of vines and leaves. You can’t stop bringing the blackened leaves up. There must be a well of leaves in you.  
The first branch sprouts somewhere around your pelvis. It reaches into the snow, a wavering tendril streaked with no gore, amazingly, and plunges itself into the hard-packed soil with incredible strength. A second follows, sprouting from your chest. A third, from your belly, and this one is the thickest so far. By far.  
Finally, there’s a sufficient pause in the flow of the stuff from your mouth for you to let out a single, weakened cry. It is too quiet to be heard over the wind.   
But something does hear you.  
The voice of the wind. A deep, whispering shadow falls over you. You look up and find your tear-filled, remaining eye staring into two suns.  
“Oh brother,” says the Beast “You’re a mess, aren’t you. You’d be doing me a great service if you could stick around for just a little while longer. The little one will be coming back soon, you see, and I need some leverage. You’re only good to me if you’re still alive.”  
You can’t speak. More and more roots are coming out of your middle. So many that you’re beginning to be lifted from the ground, into the middle of the beginnings of a wide, hollow tree trunk that is being spun for your corpse.  
And yet, you still can’t seem to pass out. Of all the times to be unable to pass out to spare yourself the pain, it would have to be now.


	28. To save him

Your name is Dave Strider and you don’t know how to take it back.  
Kanaya won’t tell you. Kanaya hasn’t talked since the first time she talked. She popped up in your dream while you slept at the Inn and introduced herself. You asked her where you had seen her before, and she told you it was in another’s face (you don’t get what that means yet, but you’re working on it). Maybe she can’t really talk, but if she can, then now would be a great time to let you know.  
It’s not really true. Some of it is. You being mad at Dirk for trying to die- that’s all true.  
But you don’t want him to die. You want him to leave your Bro and take you with him. And get bigger and come back and kill your Bro for everything he’s done. You saw him that one time, in the garage, with the knife. It’s almost your earliest memory. You know what he does for you.  
What you can’t figure out is why he hasn’t made good of his threat, if it’s really that easy to get away from Bro.  
What you can’t figure out is why he doesn’t see that your dad’s just a stupid, bigger man and he can be knocked over easily. If your brother would only tell him to get lost, and then hit him to make sure he listened, if it can be so easy to get him to stop hurting him as it was for Dirk to make sure he never hurt you, then how come he never did?  
You don’t want him to die. You want him to live, preferably forever. He’s your big brother. He’s already gonna be an unearthly, mysterious person, right? The moment you became conscious of his presence, he was like a god. Your own, private god. Bringing the food, keeping the storms at bay and keeping you safe. Completely safe, never asking in return, so maybe he’s more of a guardian angel.  
You want to run back and tell him everything. Every word of that. Make him understand that you mean it all, instead of that bad stuff you said earlier.  
You want to take it back, but the land is smothered. Everything is white in snow. Just vague, odd lumps scattered over a vague, lumpy landscape smothered in white snow. The trees rear up out of it. On one side of each tree, depending on the way the wind hits it, there’s a curtain of snow clinging to the bark. You try to face away from the wind so you and Kanaya feel less of it.  
Whichever way you turn, it seems like there’s an Edelwood smiling at you.   
You wonder how many other people in the Unknown have brothers who turned into trees. How many of them made that happen to their brother. If any of them ever fixed it?  
But you don’t see any destroyed Edelwoods. There are so many, and all of them are perfect. Complete and whole. Smooth, fantastically ugly and sneering.  
They’re all so solid and your brother is going to be one of them soon, because you told him to die and in this weather, you can wander all you want, and you’ll never find him to tell him you take it back.  
“DIRK!” you try.  
You’ve tried this about fifty times and never heard anything back. The wind is too strong.  
But there is something back this time. Faint, but not distant.  
“DIRK?” you try again, your chest swelling with hope.  
“Dave!”  
You whirl around and are confronted by so much red, that in this freezing white landscape it’s blinding, it’s just one big jumbled shape so you don’t even know who it is. At first, you think it’s a blood clot. A giant blood clot from Dirk that’s coming to take revenge. It only makes sense in that split second you have before you fall on your rear in shock, and the shock thumps you back into reality.  
Karkat falls to his knees and wraps you up in a tight hug.  
“Thank the gods.”  
You let out a stifled sob and wrap your arms around his neck. Kanaya wriggles desperately, squished between two chests.  
He holds you at arm’s length, wiping your tears away “Where’s Dirk? What happened? Please, Dave, tell me he’s ok.”  
You shake your head “He got sick. He’s got a thingie in him. A tree. I told him to die. I think I killed him.”  
The blood drains from Karkat’s already pale face, making him look like a part of the snowy background. He takes a deep breath and picks you up, wrapping you in his red cloak at the same time.  
He speaks steadily “Ok, that’s fine. That’s ok, Dave. We can find him and fix it.”  
“You started it. You made him sick.”  
Karkat’s face crumples into a pained grimace “I know. I’m going to fix it.  
“I said the worst things to him,” you whimper “I told him all these bad things I didn’t really mean. I think I made him sick, but I couldn’t make myself stop. I killed him, I think.”  
Karkat has stopped listening to your babble.  
“EQUIUS! I FOUND DAVE!”  
Less than ten seconds later, the snow is illuminated by the light of a lantern. A tall figure cloaked in blue, haloed in black hair made wild in the wind and the red light of his lantern slogs through the snow. He is joined by two more figures, wearing a lighter blue and green respectively, and holding each other’s arms like sisters.  
“Did you-” starts Karkat.  
“No,” interjects the green one, looking up in your direction. You recognise her as Terezi, one of those scary ladies that your brother was so nervous about “Did you? A clue? A sign?”  
“Nothing.”  
“Gods, you morons! What are you doing, letting him wear just that in this weather?” the girl in the blue whips off her cloak and folds you up in it. Underneath, she wears a heavy sweater that is quickly becoming covered with snow. It doesn’t seem to bother her.  
Each of the two girls are carrying a lantern of their own, and they heft them now, into the snowy wastes of white all around.  
“Do you see anything?” asks the blue one- Vriska, you think?  
“No!” snaps Terezi “Let’s keep moving, but for the love of the gods, stay with Equius, Karkat, or you’ll be lost and turned like that!” she clicks her fingers.  
To you, it sounds like the toll of a church bell. You heard some once, ringing out for a funeral.  
Dirk won’t get any of those, because who ever heard of a funeral for a tree?  
The two of them move off into the snow, cleaving the white-out for a few feet with their lanterns before they are sucked into the gloom.  
“The bell!” you breathe “I’ve got something that might help!”  
“What?”  
You bring the bell out of your pocket. Equius reels back immediately, covering his mouth “Gods, boy! What are you doing with that in your pocket?”  
“We have this too,” rasps Karkat.  
He pulls out a fistful of Grist. Equius gives him this look. You don’t know what it is, exactly, but there are a lot of things behind it. A lot of scared things. Mad things. One thing that looks kinds of happy, kind of thankful.  
“What are you going to do with that?”  
“Whatever I have to.”  
“Give it to me, for the love of the gods. I can’t let you carry a child and Grist at the same time.”  
Reluctantly, Karkat hands over the handful to Equius, who stuffs it in his pocket so fast you don’t really see his hand moving.   
“Which way do we go?”  
You clutch at Kanaya “I don’t know. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know where he is.”  
“He’s here somewhere,” says Equius in a calm voice, although he clearly doesn’t feel it “If I know him, then I know he’s not going to go anywhere until he’s had his chance to fight back.”  
“But you don’t know him,” you retort “You never met him before we went to the Inn!”  
Pain flashes across his features. He sighs, deeply, and turns his back to you, cutting the snow and wind so Karkat can follow in his wake.  
“I used to know him. He out-grew me.”  
“There’s a way that wraiths are made,” whispers Karkat, his breath hot and comforting in your ear “They’re imagined, sometimes. Equius was imagined.”  
“By Dirk?”  
“By Dirk.”  
“The story about the man in his closet,” says Equius stiffly “Do you really think a child could handle that alone for so many years? Do you really think he had the strength to defend himself? And why did that man never come near him once, why did he never once leave the closet and attempt something more?”  
Equius shoots one fierce look over his shoulder at you “Because I was there to keep him safe. Once I had taken care of the man, he no longer needed me. So he forgot me completely, and now here I am, in this accursed world. We’re all either dead, unwanted or unmade here, Dave, that’s why you can’t stay with us.”  
“I don’t want to go back to my dad,” your protest is weak, when spoken aloud, but there’s a fiery anger burning inside you at the suggestion that you’re going to have to go back to him.  
It, combined with the two layers of cloaks tangled around you, almost chases the cold entirely from your skin.  
“You stay here and you’ll be used by the Beast for his own ends. He’s going to take you away from this place anyway.”  
“Tell me what you know! I want to know what’s going on right now!”  
Karkat catches Equius’s arm “Tell him, please. Just tell him.”  
Equius is silent for a moment. He wades through the deepening snow- now so deep that Karkat’s having trouble getting through it, and your feet are grazing the peaks of the drifts. The lantern he has is the only thing that lights the darkening landscape. Night is coming. Karkat is somehow already human. You’re not going to try to figure it out. You just need to get back to Dirk, then you’ll worry about Karkat’s curse.  
“The Beast is going to use you. I assume he will destroy your soul and inhabit your body so that he can leave this world. Return to your world, you understand. Your soul would be the price to save your brother.”  
You brighten at the thought “I can save him?”  
“No!” snaps Karkat “You’re not going to save him like that!”  
You narrow your eyes at him “Hey, we both did this to him. One of us has to pick up the slack.”  
“EQUIUS!” calls a distant voice.  
His head snaps up, to the right “NEPETA?”  
“I FOUND-”  
“WHAT DID YOU SAY?”  
Her response, if there is one, is lost in the roar of snow. Equius and Karkat exchange a desperate glance.  
“Go to her,” urges Karkat, his arms tightening around you “We’ll stay here. We can wait.”  
Equius shakes his head “I can’t leave you.”  
“Yes you can. Make it quick. If it is him, scream for us.”  
Equius presses the lantern into Karkat’s hands and drowns out his attempts to protest “Please, Karkat, just take it.”   
He takes a few steps away and is enveloped in the snow. Kanaya lets out a croak.  
“It’s fine. He’s coming back.” you mutter.  
She croaks again. Something in you realises that it is a warning shortly before Karkat turns around and gives a strangled curse.  
“You.”  
“Me,” says the Beast calmly “You haven’t been the most cooperative partner in our deal, Karkat, and I see even now that you are breaking it. How did you manage this?”  
“I didn’t,” mumbles Karkat “I…the stitch-picker. She had it lying around.”  
The Beast’s dry-sun eyes light up “Ah, I see. A short-cut. No scissors to be found?”  
He bites his lip “I don’t deserve those scissors.”  
Something underneath the cloak with you rustles and squirms. You watch with wide eyes as a pair of blood-red wings untangle themselves from Karkat’s red cloak and spread out in the snow, acting as a kind of umbrella to shield him and you from the harsh winds. The Beast is not impressed, but he is amused.  
“Would you like your brother back?”  
“Not like this.”  
“Not you. Dave, would you like your brother back, child? If we tarry much longer, there will not be much of a brother to return to you.”  
“We don’t need you- we…we don’t need you. We don’t want you here.” mutters Karkat unconvincingly “Leave us alone.”  
The Beast lets out a low chuckle that makes you want to claw yourself deaf so you never have to hear anything like it again.  
“I want my brother back,” you say, your voice loud and clear despite the fear you are feeling “Take us to him, right now. But promise me you won’t hurt my friends.”  
The Beast’s eyes glitter “That depends entirely on the kind of deal we are to make.”  
It occurs to you, as the Beast turns away and leads you into the snow and as Karkat steps into his deep, thick footprints for his balance, that this guy is used to being challenged. Challenged for prizes like love and power. Challenged for things as simple as someone’s right to survive and live in their own body, and to have their family whole and complete and to be at peace.  
You wonder who decided he was going to be a dealer of these things, when he was created. Who thought it was a good idea to give such a dark personality the power to give and take, to heal and hurt? To decide if your brother was going to live or die, depending on what you do and say?  
Why does anyone have that kind of power?  
That power, it needs to be shared. Or to be given to something completely trustworthy, and you, personally, don’t think there’s anything or anyone you can trust without any fear of them turning on you one day. Even your brother uses his superior size and age to over-power you sometimes. He can’t help it. It’s the only way he knows to control you when he doesn’t know what to do with you, and he wants to keep you safe because he loves you.  
It is the difference between him and the Beast.  
Him and your father.  
“And I killed him…”  
You don’t realise you have said that last part out loud until Karkat responds “No, you didn’t. It’s not your fault, Dave. You’re just a kid.”  
“You are too. That’s why you did that to us, right? Took us to the scary lady.”  
Karkat blinks back tears “Yeah. Or because I’m a raving, amoral maniac and I….I’m gonna make this right. If the Beast wants somebody, he can have me. You two are gonna get out of here, ok?”  
“I already own you, Karkat. You can rest assured the stitches of those curse that you unravelled will fix themselves soon. You will be back where you began, if you leave it so. I suppose I won’t try to help you anymore if you’d prefer to stay a bird.”  
“Shut up!” shouts Karkat “As far as I’m concerned, I’m finished with you! Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”  
He’s going to say some more, probably a bunch of filthy curses, but Kanaya rears up out of the back of your collar and squishes herself against his mouth so it is choked off into a slimy, muffled yelp.   
You retrieve Kanaya from his mouth “Sorry.”  
A blinding light suddenly pierces through the sheets of snow. The pale figure of the Woods-Woman drifts out of the gloom, her face pinched, her eyes as waxy as marbles. As reflective as the lens of sun-glasses.  
You think about spitting at her.  
But she’s got an axe hefted over her free shoulder- the one that’s hand isn’t busy holding the lantern for the Beast. You don’t want to take any chances.   
The lantern doesn’t throw any heat off, the way it should. Instead, it seems to be sucking at what little warmth Karkat and Vriska’s cloaks have trapped in you. You tighten your arms around yourself, determined not to give up.  
At the sight of the Woods-Woman, Karkat begins to tremble. Maybe he’s scared. Or mad. Or both.  
You pat him on the shoulder to let him know he needs to calm down. You’ll take care of things…in fact…  
“Put me down.” you order.  
He doesn’t argue, but deposits you in the snow with both cloaks on. It doesn’t seem to worry him to be standing in the snow, in his thin summer clothes underneath the cloak. His wings are so pretty against all the white-like flowers, or blood welling up at the surface of the skin.  
“Hold my frog?”  
He takes Kanaya out of your hands, who doesn’t seem happy to be handed over. She croaks alarmingly, then falls silent, as it becomes clear that you’re not about to rush into the Woods-Woman’s arms. No, you’re just going to follow her and the Beast at a safe distance.  
Karkat hooks his hand into the back of one of your two hoods. He’s going to stay close and you won’t protest. You need his help to do this.  
“Here is your brother.”  
The Beast steps to the side. The snow seems to part, like curtains that the Woods-Woman and the Beast are drawing back on either side of you.  
There’s Dirk. At first, you think he’s asleep in the tree. But no, he’s awake. His eyes are fixed at where the sky would be if it weren’t buried in snow and the shadows of bare canopies of trees. They aren’t blank yet, but you can tell what makes your brother your brother is getting ready to vacate the damaged body.  
There’s a tree growing out of him. A snarl of branches curl away from his stomach. They thicken the further they get away from him and have anchored themselves in the ground. He is effectively being held aloft by the branches, but propped up by the trunk that formed underneath him. Like he grew his own throne, that tapers off and passes through his body. The tree doesn’t seem to have notice the snow, because the little twigs that reach up behind him, planning to be the canopy, have beautiful fans of leaves.  
Your brother is going to be a brilliant Edelwood.  
Your knees shake, wanting to give out. You bite your lip and force yourself not to look at the places where the branches are coming out of him. You pretend that Dirk’s just sitting on the stump of a tree that the Woods-Woman made jagged by cutting in half.  
It almost works, until Karkat makes the smallest, most heart-broken noise you’ve ever heard, and jerks you back to reality.  
You run to him “Dirk!”  
You just say his name over and over again, trying to convince him to become conscious again. To look at you and see you.  
Oh, God.  
He has to look at you. He has to see you.   
You grip his shoulders and shake him gently “Come on, you said you were sorry about trying to die, so don’t do it now. Wake up. Let’s go home. I promise I’ll go home now. We’ll go back home and see Jake and, and, listen, I’ll hold Bro down and you punch his lights out. It’s gonna be better, I promise. I’ll protect you. I won’t let him touch you. I’ll stand in front of you every time he tries to get you, and you know, ‘cos you had that knife and said all those scary things that one time, he won’t touch me. C’mon, Dirk, I wanna go home with you. Wake up.”  
Karkat kneels in the snow beside you and folds his arms around your chest, from behind. He rests his head against the back of your neck and listens to you babble. He says nothing when your voice grows choppy with tears. Meanwhile, the Beast and the Woods-Woman are watching without comment. You can feel their cold heat radiating, bathing you and Dirk in it. Colder than the snow. Worse than that feeling you get when your Bro’s eyes bore into your back.  
But not that much different.  
Finally, you turn around. At first it is into Karkat’s arms, but then you turn around to face them over his shoulder, and he eventually corrects himself so that he’s behind you. Now, he takes Dirk in his arms and cradles him, brushing the snow from his clothes.  
Your chest aches with what might be love for both of them, and it puts a smile on your face when you should be grovelling.  
“Ok, Beast, what do you want me to do to save my brother?”  
The Beast beams back at you, though he has no real face with which to beam “What exactly may I ask of you?”  
“Anything,” you announce.  
“Are you sure? That’s quite a lot.”  
“Without my brother around, there’s no point in me being around either.”  
“That’s quite a dangerous mentality to be walking around with.”  
“It’s true, though. You probably know, right? You’re the kind of monster that knows everything. You know our dad’s a disgusting person. He’d just end up killing me without Dirk around to protect me…so, so if I’m going back, then I have to take all of him with me.”  
The Beast approaches you without moving. He leans over you, seamless and shadowed “I am not certain your brother is entirely himself at the moment.”  
You glance over at the slumped jumble of limbs and wood that Karkat holds and your heart sinks “You did that to him, though. You can fix him.”  
“Me?” the Beast’s tone is of injured innocence “I didn’t do this to him. You see, the Unknown plants a seed in all those who inhabit it. It is a cunning survival reflex, I would imagine. Those who begin to lose hope for survival become burdensome. To relieve itself of the burden, the Unknown makes them useful in another, more direct way. Simply put, the Unknown creates an Edelwood from a seed. Your brother was doomed from the moment he entered this realm.”  
Fresh tears prick your eyes “Then…then if he was…what are you?”  
The Beast clasps his long hands over the hollow where his heart would be “I am the farmer. The one who cultivates the Edelwoods.”  
“You’re a monster. So what is she? Does she grow things like you?”  
The Beast flicks its dust-coloured eyes over at the Woods-Woman, the light falling on her like a spot-light “She is nothing of consequence.”  
The Woods-Woman opens her mouth as if to retort, but she chokes it back.  
“No, no, go ahead, Woods-Woman, tell him what it is.”  
“I’m his sister.” croaks the Woods-Woman “I saved him. I had to. I couldn’t leave him to die and…and I killed everything else when I saved him.”  
Her white knuckles tremble on the handle of the lantern. Bathed in its wan light, she looks like a ghost. She is a ghost, you realise. She’s been turned into a ghost and it has not been an easy or a willing process.  
“Is that what’ll happen to me if I save Dirk?”   
The Beast makes a gesture that might be a shrug “That depends entirely on you. You could become any number of things. A bird,” he waves that impossibly long hand at Karkat “Or something else. A shade. A ghost, luring passers-by to his resting place in hopes of avenging himself. A scarecrow full of sawdust and what was once a soul, but is now just rags of the thing. Or, you could become nothing at all…but now that I think about it, yes, becoming what she is is the most practical option.”  
The Woods-Woman’s red eyes screw up, shut tight, her face miserable “You promised me you wouldn’t do this.”  
“I made that promises as a different man. I am not a man anymore, and gods know, you are even further from being anything that resembles a person than you ever were.”  
You recognise something whining and petulant in the Beast’s voice- it’s the same tone you use when you’re trying to get Dirk to give you something he needs or wants more than you do.  
“Wait a second, how does this work?”  
The Beast looks back to you “Very simply. Look at your brother. He’s not strong enough to leave the Unknown like this. Why, if he left now I’m sure he wouldn’t even remember his own name, let alone be strong enough to protect you from anything. His troubles have worn him thin. There’s nothing in him left to resist the troubles of the world- this one, or whichever one it is you will be plodding along home to when all is said and done.”  
You can’t deny that. You’ve never seen Dirk looking weaker, or less…just less. There’s not a person in there anymore, if you look. It’s just some flesh hanging in a tree. But it’s where your brother lives, and you’ve got to protect that.  
“But…but if I can’t save him here…then how am I supposed to get him home?”  
The Beast’s eyes glow even brighter, if it’s possible “At this stage, I’m afraid you don’t. What would be best is for you to give him the time he needs to build his strength back up. To leave the Unknown, one must be both mentally and physically prepared. Your brother is neither. If you make a deal with me, we can give him the time to recover.”  
Your hands are sweaty, even though it’s so cold you can barely feel them “How?”  
“Well…if I am to restore the strength of one body, then you would agree that the privileges to another body is an equivalent exchange, yes?”  
Your heart skips a beat. This is what they’ve all been warning you about “You want me to let you live in me?”  
The Beast spreads his long hands, as if in a welcoming gesture, like he’s extending the same invitation “Yes, but I’m afraid I can’t leave my own body to languish. It would rot. Your brother can live there.”  
It doesn’t take much thinking to know this is a bad idea. This is a trick. Only someone incredibly stupid would accept it.  
“I don’t know if he’d like that.”  
Karkat is shaking his head hard behind you. He can’t even begin to tell you how wrong and bad and downright stupid it would be to make this deal. Your eyes wander over to the Woods-Woman, who is trying very carefully not to look at anyone or anything. She’s still holding the lantern, though. High up in the snow, and it’s not even guttering in the winds.  
Something occurs to you.  
“Will…will he have to carry the lantern?”  
The Beast glances over at the Woods-Woman in obvious disgust “He could, if he wanted to. Or he could use my tool…but I think the best way to settle all of your problems would be if you asked one of your friends to do that for you. The Beast needs a guardian, you see. If we are to make this deal, then I’m afraid I must insist that if you’re going to be replacing Calliope, then you must replace her with someone as drivelling and obsequious.”  
“I’ll do it.” says Karkat immediately.  
“I suspected as much.”  
You can’t let this happen. But it’s going to happen, no matter what you do, you think. There’s no way out of this, is there? You have nothing on your side. Maybe the Beast can’t steal your body away without your permission, but he’s going to get to you someday. You’ll lose hope. Maybe it will be you wrapped up in the Edelwood when he finds you next and offers his deal. Maybe you’ll have no Karkat by then, no one to take care of you otherwise.  
No other way out. No other anything.  
So, that’s fine then. This is a trick. This will go wrong in every way it can go wrong. You’ll do if you do this, but at least Dirk will have some time to recover. He’ll become conscious of being a giant, woody monster some day and he’ll probably scream the woods down, then tear down what’s left looking for you.   
The idea of the entire Unknown being razed to the ground is both comforting and terrifying. Where will the good people like Karkat live, if their home is gone?  
But on the bright side, at least all the horror would end.  
You go over to Karkat, your chest heavy “I have to.”  
Karkat cradles Dirk the way Dirk holds you when you’re upset, or sleeping on him. His head is titled back. His throat is turned towards you, just in case you might want to bite it out to spare him the pain he’s about to be put through.  
Brushing the gathering snow from Dirk’s collar, Karkat nods grimly “There’s nothing else we can do.”  
“Is he dead?”  
“No.”  
“Will he get better if I put him in that…that body?”  
Karkat puts his forehead against yours “It won’t be him anymore.”  
You shut your eyes, feeling the tips of your eyelashes brushing Karkat’s wet cheek “That’s fine. As long as a little bit of him gets to live…he wanted to kill himself, when we came here, so I think the best way I can get back at him is making sure he can’t die.”  
The other boy laughs, pained and derisive “You’re a little shit.”  
He presses something into your palm. It’s round, smooth and heavy as a handful of ball-bearings.  
“It’s all I’ve got. See if you can think of something to do with it.”  
Grist? What the heck is this stuff, anyway? The way Equius acted, he thought Karkat was carrying around a bunch of little bombs in his pocket.  
Another idea occurs to you.  
Tiny pieces, inching together. Like pasting together the fragments of a mug you dropped.   
The lantern.  
The Grist.  
The Beast and his sister, the Woods-Woman, Calliope.  
He wants you to replace her. But not her, as a sister, but her as a guard. Because she’s gotten lax, hasn’t she? She doesn’t like what she’s doing anymore. She’s serving a monster now, not helping her brother, and she knows it too well.  
He needs someone looking after that lantern at all times.  
You look up at the Beast. He looks down at you, expectantly, pleased with his own cleverness.  
You point to Karkat “He’ll help me, like he said he would. We’ll do this.”  
The Beast folds his long fingers together “Very well. Now, as to you? Would you like a moment to say goodbye to your brother?”  
“How long will it be before I see him again?”  
With the sound of an old door being closed, the Beast shrugs “I couldn’t say. It will be in this life-time, but perhaps, not in this season. Not for a long, long while. But that’s acceptable to you, isn’t it? Missing each other at the cost of survival? That is not an unreasonable price to ask.”  
You force a smile “No. It’s not. You’re right.”  
You’re saying everything he wants to hear. The Beast nods, satisfied. He extends hand to you, but you look past it, to Calliope. She withers at the spotlight of your attention, trying to make herself smaller.  
“What happens between her and Karkat?”  
“All you have to do is take the lantern from her and give to your friend. Then she is free to go wherever she wishes.”  
Calliope winces. She’s been waiting for these words for a long time, and not with hope.  
Cautiously, you approach her. She lowers the lantern to a height where you can get at it, if you get up on the tips of your toes. She wants to make you reach for it.  
So you do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two more chapters to go.  
> Endings are on the way, though it remains to be seen if they are happy.


	29. An ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are folks, one more chapter after this.  
> Happy Halloween. Or should I call it, Feels-o-ween

Your name is Dave Strider, and the moment you’ve got the lantern in your hand, you do something stupid with it.  
The Beast notices the thing in your hand a second after you have unlatched the lantern, as he is saying “Boy-”  
You think on the Grist scars that Eridan pointed out to you from his father’s boat and, hoping to whatever God watches over this place that your arm won’t be blown off, you throw the Grist into the fire inside the lantern. Your working theory is that the Beast needs this thing. He has it guarded. The way you understand it, he’s rarely far from Calliope the Woods-Woman, who carries it with her always.  
So, your child’s imagination made the last leap of logic and faith for you.  
It’s his soul, you think. His nasty, knotted, gnarled soul, and when you open the lantern to toss the Grist in, you catch a faint whiff of the smell of dead things.  
Immediately, you throw the lantern high into the air and hit the deck. A little ways away, Karkat folds protectively over Dirk. Overhead, there is an explosion of incredible heat and light. A scream from the Beast that no kind of animal or human or even monster could ever make. Heat rolls over your back, like a giant fist just barely missing making contact. You let out a little scream of shock and triumph, and hear what sounds like one of pain from the Woods-Woman. And that horrible wail from the Beast will not end.  
As soon as the heat has faded, the explosion, dwindling into a series of echoes, you roll onto your side and peer out at the Beast through the cracks between your fingers. His skin is on fire. He’s burning from the inside out. The suns that were his eyes have been replaced by twin jets of fire that are melting everything they touch. Not that he’s touching much more than the ground where he has fallen.  
One long, crumbling arm reaches out for you. The twisted fingers of it collapse to ash inches from your face.  
“Little…fool…” it rasps “Murderer. You…murdered your brother…”  
From the blackened wrist upwards, the arm begins to fall away into ash. Slowly, painfully, the Beast’s body is dissolving to crumbs of charcoal. The ash and glass and other bits of debris rain down from the sky, and you glance up briefly to see that you’ve blown a hole in the canopy. The snow has been flung in every direction- the explosion was so strong, it actually split the wind, so now there are confused little flocks of snowflakes forming a funnel, of sorts, that extends to the steel-grey sky above.  
You know what’s coming.  
With tears gathering in your eyes from the smell of smoke, you turn back to the Beast “I’m not scared of you.”  
“Why…why not?”   
Before you can answer him, he gives a ragged cry that tells you whatever passes for his insides have been splintered. The Beast’s other hand gropes towards the gaping, slightly scorched woman. He gives a weak and wordless cry. Begging for her.  
Calliope staggers over without hesitation. Even as the body crumbles, she gathers up the head and what little is left of the torso, and strokes what might be his forehead with her bruised knuckles.  
“It hurts.” moans the Beast.  
“It’s almost over,” she says softly “I promise, it’s almost over.”  
“Where- where am I going? Am I free? Am I dead?” his eyes would be alight with fear, if there was still a warmth in his skull to provide that.  
His fire has been scattered around the clearing, blasting it clean of snow, still burning in little thatches of fire in several places.  
Calliope continues to stroke what remains of her brother’s face “It’s gonna be ok.”  
“It hurts. I don’t w-want to…I don’t want to…”  
“I know, kiddo, I know. It’s gonna be ok. Look at me, and tell me, am I lying?” she forces a tear-stained smile “Would I lie to you?”  
Some of her tears splash onto the Beast’s blackened face “Yes. You always lie.”  
“Well I’m not lying now.”  
Now, Calliope is only holding a head in her lap. The rest has turned into a black stain that she’s likely never going to be able to wash out of her clothes.  
“I was bad to you.”  
“That doesn’t matter now.”  
“You deserve it. You did this to me. You made me a monster. Now- now I’m going nowhere. You’re lying, Callie…I can see death, and there’s nothing here. Not for me. You did this to me.”  
Her face remains composed “I know, Caliborn. Just close your eyes now.”  
There is a dry, hair-raising whisper in response as the head crumbles to ash between her hands. Calliope cups her stained palms and watches. A grey, shimmering vapour begins to rise from both the little clutches of fire, and the imprint of the Beast’s sprawled form in the ash. The vapour collects into a tight ball in the middle of the funnel of snow and begins to rise.  
Standing, Calliope reaches out and just manages to brush her fingers against the base of it.  
“I love you!” she calls after the rising sphere of grey “I’m sorry, but I love you so much!”  
You stand too, craning your neck back to watch the greyness rise.  
And rise and rise. It’s much lighter than the rest of the sky. A stain of cigarette smoke in the midst of all the snow. A bruise on white, white skin. It gathers speed and starts to rotate. The ball spins up into the dark atmosphere, with one final, ear-splitting scream of what might be pain or what might be unbridled relief.  
Then, the snow funnel collapses. The wind dies down to a gentle, if cutting series of breezes that scatter the snow in pretty flurries. Aware of the ash and snow caught in your hair, you dust yourself off frantically. A piece of the lantern comes away, snagged on your sleeve. It’s a warped, mangled bit of metal that has curled into the shape of a hook. You toss it away in disgust.  
Calliope the Woods-Woman sinks to her knees in the pile of ash “My brother.”  
“My brother!” you repeat, looking over to Dirk “Oh, God…”   
Dirk’s on fire. But Karkat doesn’t seem concerned.   
In fact, he seems kind of in awe as he watches the fire from the Beast’s lantern- the Beast’s soul- climbing the various vines stuck into Dirk. It has already seeped underneath his skin and makes him glow from the inside out. The shadows of his veins and bones are cast all over the clearing, in a gentle, pleasant sort of light.  
You rush over and crouch beside him, gripping Dirk’s hand “What’s happening to him?”  
Karkat shrugs, making his wings rustle “He’s…he’s waking up.”  
As if on cue, Dirk’s good eye flies open. It darts from side-to-side in a panic, searching for something it knows. It finds you.  
“Dave,” he looks up “Karkat. Am…am I on fire?”  
Karkat squeezes his other hand “Does it hurt?”  
Dirk shakes his head “I can’t even- no, it’s just warm. Hot. Oh, God, I’m burning on the inside and it doesn’t even hurt.”  
“We should back up.”  
Karkat has to pry you off Dirk before you’ll follow your own advice. He balances you on one thin hip and bounces you nervously as the fire eats away at the growth in Dirk. Your brother shifts slightly, his skin bending around the wood in him. But as the fire gets brighter and brighter and the wood blackens underneath it, he is able to pull an arm free. Then a leg. Then his other arm and his other leg, and finally he’s on his feet. Still full of flames, but upright. Watching his veins stand out like golden spider-webs on the backs of his hands and in his arms.  
“Am I pretty, Dave?” when he opens his mouth, the back of his throat glows like he’s swallowed a torch.  
“No. You look like you ate a glow stick.”  
He laughs, spitting sparks “You’re just jealous. What do you think, Karkat? Am I pretty when I’m on fire?”  
Karkat’s smile is wan and weak, but it’s so relieved that you’re compelled to kiss him on the cheek when he’s finished talking “It goes nicely with your eyes.”  
Finally, the fire begins to die down. Behind Dirk, the stump of the Edelwood smoulders. Ash falls from his skin. For a minute, you’re terrified he’s about to crumble away like the Beast, but the ash is only pouring out of him. Out of the holes where the Edelwood pierced him in the first place. Once the little falls of ash have finished falling out of him, the hole where they came from is almost gone. Only marked by a white little patch of scar tissue. That’s the only evidence, apart from the holes in Dirk’s clothes as well. His cloak has mostly escaped unmarked, as it fell in folds on either side of him when the Edelwood throne was being grown around him.  
Karkat puts you down and takes a cautious step forward. Dirk lunges and sweeps him up in a hug so hard you can hear their bones creaking. At first, Karkat’s all tense, like he thinks Dirk’s gonna hurt him. Then he starts to squeeze him back and they sway a little bit. You feel like you should leave them to it, to let them mutter apologies to each other, but…you also want a piece of that action.  
Ultimately, your desire to be included wins out. You wriggle in between their legs. Immediately, Dirk scoops you up in one arm, and he slings the other around Karkat’s shoulders, letting it rest between his wings.  
He smiles sadly “I’ve been kinda letting you guys down, huh? If I’m not freaking out on you then I’m turning into a fucking tree.”  
“Nah,” you thump your forehead against his and produce a satisfying smack “You’re cool. It’s all cool, big bro.”  
He laughs.  
“I suppose you’re all very pleased with yourself.”  
You had forgotten that the Woods-Woman was still around. You were kind of hoping that she’d stumble off in the woods to cry or kill herself or something, but she’s remained in front of the Beast’s remains. She stares up at you, her eyes ringed in shadow.  
“You killed my brother. You saved yours. Now you can go home. Now, you should go home, before something else happens. Say, for example, before I find my axe.”  
“I wouldn’t worry about what you might do with a weapon in your hands,” says an icy voice behind her “Because I’ve got the axe now.”  
Equius Zahhak stands between two trees, bowed by the explosion. The axe is slung over his shoulder, while his other hand is busy with a lantern. Now, the lantern’s glow casts a large and welcoming pool of buttery light in the snow. The hood of his cloak is back, and his dark hair is free in the gentle wind. He looks like the most badass fairy there ever was. Tinkerbell’s biker brother.  
“Get out of here.” he suggests “And do not show your face in these parts again.”  
Glowering, the Woods-Woman sinks her hand into the ash. She comes away with a fistful of ashes, which she cradles carefully and releases into her pocket. She takes a few more from the shape, which has already begun to be scattered in the wind. Soon, the Beast will be scattered in little black particles among the snow. No one will be able to tell where the filthy stuff mixed with the snow has come from. They’ll wave it away in disgust and think nothing of it.  
That’s the best end you can possibly think of.  
The Woods-Woman stands up. She walks stiffly past you without a sideways glance, past Equius with her axe, and pauses only at the edge of the clearing.  
She turns back, her red eyes aimed on Dirk “They destroy you, you know. They take all your love and they’ll only give back pain and hunger.”  
Dirk smiles coolly “I don’t think that’s true, but if it is? Then I’m here to give.”  
She smiles bitterly “I wish I could still feel that way. Take care of him. Or kill him, and take care of yourself.”  
Dirk hefts you in his arms and sighs into your hair “I think I’ll be keeping him.”  
With one last desolate look at the ashes, now scattering in the snow and hanging in the air like a dark little cloud of bees, the Woods-Woman turns on her heels and vanishes into the windswept woods without so much as a crunch of snow.  
After some careful thought, you spit after her.

 

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you don’t remember dying.  
Which means that either these memories will return to you on some distant, dark night and wake you up, breathless and cold, or that there is nothing to remember of death. You look forward to the return of your memories.  
When you drifted back into consciousness, the sensation was of a hundred little things crawling and swimming through you, lithe in shape and friendly in purpose. They sense something sinister in you and were working earnestly to purge you of it. Strange results, as Dave tells you that the fire that was in you had come from the explosion of the dreaded Grist (what a shame that you weren’t conscious to see that working its magic) and the lantern’s fire combined. But it worked. It freed you from the grip of the Edelwood.  
It afforded you one last chance that you’re not sure you have earned, but you’re going to make the absolute best of it now that you’ve got it.  
Karkat kneels in front of you in the snow. His entire body trembles. Not in the anticipation of what is about to be done to him with the scissors, but with the effort of keeping himself from changing back. Already, his hands have turned to over-sized versions of the tips of his wings a couple of times, and it is only through sheer force of will that he has managed to keep the progress of the feathers at bay, to hold them back from crumbling his body to feathers and shrinking him to a bird once again. The weak, winter sun that filters through the branches is a testament to how much willpower this must be taking.  
He speaks with some difficulty “The stitch picker…I took it out of the crone’s lap and just sorta hacked at myself until I had legs again.”  
“That was extremely ill-advised.” says Equius.  
Nepeta nods sagely “You could have done yourself some permanent damage, and then where would you be?”  
“I don’t remember requesting the pleasure of hearing your opinions,” says Karkat through gritted teeth “So, out of fear of such words of wisdom being wasted on these unworthy ears, I’ll ask that you both shut your fucking craws because I’m in pain and I don’t need to hear it.”  
Dave laughs. He’s got Kanaya the wonder frog in one hand and is using the other to hang of Equius’s arm. Something has passed between the two of them that makes Dave slightly more at ease around him. He’s jumping all over him (sometimes barely missing the axe) the way he jumps over the other big-boy that will tolerate his attentions; Jake.  
You’re thinking about Jake a lot more, now that home is basically in sight. About what you’re going to have to say to him when you get to the other side. If you manage it- which you will. You have to be certain of that by now, or risk growing the tree from your insides out all over again.  
That sure wasn’t fun. You don’t want to do that again.  
“You ready?”  
The scissors hover over Karkat’s back, over the point from which his wings sprout. Karkat tenses.  
“C’mon Karkat, you can do it!” says Dave “It’s just like getting a splinter out. ‘cept Dirk always gets mine out with his teeth.” Dave makes a few snarling noises for added affect.  
“That’s not helping!” he snaps, except now his shoulders are slack again, and he has been put at ease.  
Quickly, while he’s still unwound, you make the first snip. At the base of his wings. The scissors path through the sinew, the tissue and the bone as they would through felt. Karkat gasps and knots his fingers in his trousers. You snip through the first wing as fast and gently as you can. Once it is severed, the wing teeters back, threatening to fall on top of you. Impatiently, you brush it to the side and let it fall into the grass, so you can get started on the other wing. As you’re cutting away the next and Karkat is muttering a steady stream of curses under his breath, the fallen wing starts to melt. The details of the feathers blur and run together, turning to a kind of red, glittering slurry that seeps quickly into the ground. The next wing falls to the ground.  
“All done.”  
Karkat lets out an especially foul curse and leans forward on his hands “I can’t believe you hid those from me.”  
“Well I was pretty pissed off, Karkat.”  
“I know. I’m so-”  
“Does it hurt?”  
“No. Not anymore.”  
Indeed, as you watch, the stumps of his wings are dissolving too, into the same red slurry that drips slowly down his back and into the dirt without leaving a trace to suggest it was there at all. The only sign that Karkat was ever cursed are two identical slashes of red, raw tissue that you can only hope will harden into scars at some point in the near future. Curious to see what has become of the wings, you glance around you and realise that you are now sitting a puddle of bright red poppies that definitely wasn’t there before.  
Where Karkat’s wings have fallen, the snow has been cleared away in an almost perfect circle of tall-stemmed poppies and lush green grass beneath it. You pluck one to sample the scent, and when you decide there’s nothing wrong with it, you pop it behind Karkat’s ear. He turns to glower. You just give him an easy smile and offer him his shirt back.  
Dave comes to crouch at the edge of the circle of poppies “That’s so cool!”  
Tugging his shirt over his head, Karkat moves gingerly. He still can’t look you in the eye for an extended period of time. You kind of hate to leave it like this with him, still so raw and wounded from the betrayal. You’re just glad that you have found the strength to call it good with him. Something about being half-eaten from the inside out by a tree just makes you a lot more forgiving to a person who has wronged you, especially when you wake up, still ensnared by that tree with some fire in your blood, to find that person cradling you with all the care they would give to a newborn.  
Dave was right. Karkat never meant to do what he did to you. Even though you have to look at him with one eye, because of him, you can’t help but look at him fondly.  
You help him to stand “We need to go the river now, right?”  
Equius nods. You’re probably never going to know what made you so determined to kiss him- really, to just pet his hair and tell him he’s an awesome person and you’re so proud of him and all the rest of that gushy stuff- or why he’s acting so weird and reserved around you. Or where he knows you from in the first place. But that’s fine by you. The Unknown is full of mysteries, and you can live with not solving all of them before you live.  
The main point is that you get to live.  
“I’ll lead the way,” volunteers Nepeta, looping an arm through Equius’s “This guy, right here, he’s useless with directions. His fork gets lost on the way to his mouth.”  
Equius rolls his eyes “It’s not everyone that can find their way through a snowstorm, dear.”  
“I was screaming for you the whole time and you just kept smacking into trees-”  
“I was walking through a blizzard.  
“Yes, but so was I and I knew where I was going.”  
“You’re a tracker by trade.”  
She flicks the end of his nose gently “And you’re a big silly doofus by trade.”  
Apparently, when Equius finally did find Nepeta while your little brother and weakened friend were fighting to save their lives and what little remained of yours, she was in awe of one of the corpses from Pottsfield that she had found frozen solid. She had the stick that she wanted Equius to poke it with and everything. Equius related this with a soft fondness to his voice, so you suspect it won’t be long before she’s entirely forgiven for the deaths she might have caused by calling him away.  
The snowfall has become gentle as the two of them walk you through the woods. Nepeta attaches herself to Equius, but insists on leading, so he’s kind of trailing behind her like the tail of a small green-clad comet. Karkat hangs back to walk with you. He doesn’t even complain when you wrap an arm around him, to keep him from keeling over.  
He may be walking with much more ease, now that he is free from the weight of his curse, but he’s so tired that you’re kind of afraid he’s going to fall asleep and sleep right through the goodbye.  
“My family.” he says suddenly.  
Your hands are around his waist, as you help him jump down a two-foot ledge in the path “Huh?”  
Karkat lands lightly and reaches for Dave, who accepts his help, then clings, so Karkat has to keep walking with Dave wrapped around him like backpack on backwards.   
Rubbing a little circle in Dave’s back with his thumb, Karkat’s eyes grow distant “I did it for my family. My father made a deal with the Beast that cursed us all. The idea being that if one of us found the strength to break our curse, then the rest would break too. A chain reaction. I don’t know if my sisters are even alive at this point, let alone my dad.”  
Kanaya lets out a loud croak that kind of kills the moment. Dave shushes her.  
“You should look for them.”  
He nods “I’m scared to think what I’ll find.”  
“Good things. You earned it.”  
“With low-down dirty tricks and bloodshed and betrayal galore.”  
You sigh “You know what? It’s a weak man that can’t enjoy a little bit of that every now and then. You’re cool with us, Karkat, so try being cool with yourself, for once.”  
“Oh so you noticed the whole self-loathing thing?” his mouth quirks up at the edge.  
“I’d have to be blind not to notice.”  
“You looked blind when you were wearing your…what was the word… your ‘shades’. I like your face better without them. It’s easier to look at the full-on Dork face than just getting little hints of the true horror that lies underneath.”  
Again, Kanaya croaks loudly.  
“Kanaya, hush. They’re having a big-boy talk. Wait your turn, then you can fuss at Karkat.”  
Karkat shifts Dave’s weight so he can pat him on the back without fear of dropping him “The frog can’t talk, you weird little man.”  
“She can too, you non-believer.”  
The walk passes more quickly than you could have hoped for. It seems like far less of a trek when you can actually see where you’re going. Nepeta must also be taking some kind of shortcut, because you remember walking a lot further than you end up walking to reach the point where the Beast was destroyed. The last stage of the walk is a slope that’s made steep and slippery by the snow. it takes a bit of work to get Dave up, but you manage, and by the time you’re climbing over the top you become aware of a murmur of voices as well as the rush of the river.  
Waiting on top of the hill is what looks like a small party. A search party?  
You glance at Karkat, who flushes red.  
“I kind of maybe flew back to the Inn and got them all out to look for you…listen, the fucker was singing his weird songs, ok? I knew he meant business. You guys were good people. No one wanted to see you die. Besides, it’d be a shit-storm of cyclonic proportions if the Beast got inside a warm body.”  
You don’t bother to ask how Karkat knows what a cyclone is, when the only body of water he ever should have seen is a river.  
There are a lot of people waiting for you, and happy, overjoyed, or slightly relieved to see that you and your brother are still in one piece, for the most part.  
Cary the Ferryman, holding his son by the collar while he talks to Graa’ant the Shaman. You’re kind of surprised to see him and his son out, considering the way you parted, but hey, the Beast is gone and his kid is better, so why not? Gamzee’s got a wary hand on his collar too and he’s straining happily against it like Eridan is straining against his father. They’re having an incredibly animated chat that involves a lot of sweeping gestures and tugging on their respective father’s long sleeves, either to prove a point or for their attention.  
Roxy, still in that dress that makes you want to sit at her feet for a story-time, is talking with Ms Paint and little Jane, and littler John. You’re surprised to see that they have come out too, but then you spy a long, wickedly curved knife sheathed on Jane’s belt, and a heavy hammer strapped to John’s back like Thor’s weapon, and tell yourself they can probably take care of themselves.  
A little more towards the river are the two trackers that still terrify you, for no good reason. The one with the eyepatch is crouched over- and your heart soars to see this- to talk to Jade at her eye-level. Both of them are smiling. Jade’s cheeks are chubby, scrunching her eyes up in the way that all small children should be able to smile. She truly looks at ease.  
Finally, there is Sol. You hadn’t noticed him before, hiding behind the Ferryman’s other leg. He’s skulking in the shadows, his eyes fixed on Eridan.  
Oh, you know that look. You used to catch Jake giving you that look all the time. Their children will be beautiful.  
When you crest the hill, the atmosphere is solemn, with the exception of the little pocket of happiness between Jade and Vriska, and Eridan and Gamzee’s conversation.  
Sol is the first to see you.  
His eyes light up “Oh my gosh!” he lisps “You’re both alive!”  
The Ferryman’s head snaps up. He pushes his hood back and you are disappointed to find a perfectly normal, handsome face is still there. The only thing marring him is those scars, and even they manage to complement his high cheekbones. You were kind of hoping that he’d morph into a slavering monster for dramatic effect, the next time you saw him.  
He smiles. Your legs want to turn to water, but you fix an image of Jake, your Jake, smiling goofily and order them to pull themselves together. You’re a married man, for Christ’s sakes.  
Eridan and Dave launch themselves at each other around the same time. One of them snags Gamzee by the collar and tugs him into the laughing mess too. With a pang of sympathy, you note Sol watching them like they’ve all got his favourite candy and they’re not sharing. Then, Dave catches sight of him and waves him over. He skirts around The Ferryman’s legs and approaches nervously, speaking softly until Eridan grabs his hand in excitement and his words choke off into a giddy, embarrassed smile.  
While the kids are gushing over each other, the adults form a loose ring around you and Karkat. He keeps his eyes low and snarls his fingers in his shirt. You don’t know how much he told them, but you notice a few dark glances between him and your wound.  
“Karkat found us,” you say clearly, so they can all hear you “Dragged us ass-backwards through the trouble too.” you slap him on the back, careful to avoid touching where his wings used to be “Somebody needed to. We were a fucking mess when he found us!”  
They all want to know what happened. So, with Karkat’s help, you fill them in. John eventually peels away and wanders over to stand with the rest of the kids. They ask some questions. They make up their own answers a couple times, before you can supply them. By the end of it, they’re all staring around the falling snow suspiciously, looking for those sneaking black particles of the thing that kept them all bound to their homes for years and years.  
By the end of it, you think you have their respect. Their attention, at least.  
“So the Beast is gone?” asks Jane, somewhat redundantly.  
Vriska waves a hand in front of Terezi’s face, batting away a single flake of black in all the white falling around them “The Beast is trying to get up Terezi’s nose as we speak.”  
Terezi snorts in alarm and whips her hand around frantically, so that Nepeta has to duck to avoid being smacked in the face.  
Ms Paint is shifting her weight in a way that suggests guilt, although her face doesn’t match up “I’m afraid we all assumed you knew what you were getting into when you said you were going to the Pasture. There aren’t many people who would brave the Good Woman. You had your guide with you, a Vantas, no less, so I know I just assumed you were very determined. That you had an ace up your sleeves, of sorts. I can see now that that was not the case.”  
You rub Karkat’s shoulder absently “None of us knew what we were doing, going to her. The good thing is that she’s dead now.”  
The Ferryman grins at Graa’ant “You’re her sole beneficiary, aren’t you? Does this mean you inherit the title? Good Man of the Pasture?”  
His face crumples in disgust “Oh fuck, I hope not.”  
A nervous laugh passes around the group.  
Roxy picks a piece of ash out of Equius’s hair- God only knows how she noticed it, in all that rich black “She won’t be mourned, I can tell you that much. She cursed a lot of people.”  
His face thoughtful, Karkat produces the bird-shaped scissors from his pocket. He holds his palm flat so the group can get a good luck at it, and they all make impressed or appreciative noises.  
“I figure we can track those folks down and solve the problem with these…maybe one of the trackers could take it?”  
Both Vriska and Terezi grin like sharks. After a second’s hesitation, Karkat passes the scissors to Nepeta.  
She opens and closes the blades experimentally “This is a huge job you just handed me. Thanks, Karkat, I needed something to do with my lazy afternoons.”  
Equius rolls his eyes and ruffles her hair.  
Everyone jumps at a sudden croak from the centre of the circle. Kanaya is standing in the middle of a forest of legs, her cheeks and throat bulging with another ribbit, ready to be fired. Dave darts in between the Ferryman’s knees and seizes her, apologising. Then, because he’s a seven year old child, he glances up the Ferryman’s cloak.  
“He’s wearing pants! It’s all cool folks!”  
The Ferryman swats at him “Begone, you little imp!”  
Again, they all laugh, but this time there is nothing nervous about it.  
You sense that now is the time to go, while everyone is still feeling good about the way things turned out.  
“Dave, say your goodbyes!”  
A chorus of high-pitched whines goes up, but they start to hug and clap his shoulders and offer sage bits of advice.  
You catch the last bit of Sol’s: “If you get water up your nose when you’re swimming, then plug your nose and blow out really hard, and it’ll all shoot out of your ears.”  
Karkat follows you and your brother down to the riverbank. The rest of them linger on the top of the bank. Either they don’t want to intrude on the moment, or they’re afraid of what’s about to happen.  
You are the first to dip your foot in. The water is freezing as expected, but somehow, it is far less torturous than getting into the pond was. Karkat wades in after you, up to the waist.  
He carries Dave to have an excuse to follow you. When you take Dave from him, the two of you stare at each other for a long moment.  
His eyes are so red.  
“Don’t let them push you around, back there. Be as crazy and determined as you were here.” he says.  
You nod “Don’t stop looking for your sister.”  
“Oh!” chirps Dave “Um, can you hold Kanaya for me? In fact, can you just keep her? She’s from here anyway, and it wouldn’t be nice to take her away from her friends and family and stuff.”  
A flicker of a shadow passes across Karkat’s face, as if this request bothers him, but he takes the frog without complaint.  
“Be good for Karkat. Don’t give him any shit.”  
You sputter and laugh, flicking Dave on the temple “Language, you cussy little bastard!”  
Next, the three of you hug. It’s one of those tight, breathless, cosy hugs you’re used to seeing around airports, when people are putting their children on planes alone, or seeing the grandparents off from a vacation with the family.  
Except you’re never going to see Karkat again. The thought puts a prickling fire under your eye.  
Then, as if reading your mind, Karkat puts his lips next to your ear and whispers “Whenever you see a fat little red bird with a Mohawk, think of me.”  
“Will do, buddy.”  
Reluctantly, you part, conscious of the stares that the spectacle is attracting from the river-bank. On an impulse, you lean forward and give Karkat the most chaste kiss on the mouth that there has ever been.  
Someone whoops on the riverbank. One of the kids lets out a groan of disgust, and you hear the clap of a fatherly hand over young eyes while the rest of them laugh and coo. Karkat breaks away, his face flushing, and wipes his mouth on his sleeve.  
Dave is practically vomiting in horror “I’m not gonna kiss you, Karkat! But I’ll hug you again.”  
And he does, briefly and carefully. Karkat plucks the poppy from behind his ear and presses it into Dave’s hand. Dave accepts it like the keys to a kingdom. His smile is radiant.  
“I like you as a person” says Dave “I really do. Bird-you was all grumpy, but person you is awesome. Go be awesome for me, ok? Like, so everyone knows how cool you really are.”  
Karkat nods mutely. You get the feeling that he’s going to cry if he opens his mouth again. The same fear is keeping your mouth glued shut.  
With nothing left to do or say now, you wave to the crowd on the riverbank, and then turn to the water. Your next step puts you at about chest-height in the water. The cloak trails and twists behind you, like the fin of a great fish. Dave wraps his arms around your neck. The poppy is clasped tightly in one hand.   
“It’s gonna be ok.” he whispers.  
You aren’t certain which one of you he is talking to- you, or himself.  
You answer anyway “You bet it is, little man.”  
Then the water swallows you up.


	30. An epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, folks, it's been a blast. The readership has always been small, but man you guys have been awesome and engaged and super responsive, and I can't thank you all enough for it.  
> I hope the ending satisfies in some way. I've tried to tie up as many strings as are loose, or frayed, or just need some more telling to them. Not every ending is happy, but where they can be, these endings are.  
> So, here we go.  
> (also can I recommend that everyone plugs into 'To build a home' by the cinematic orchestra while reading this? I had the song on repeat while finishing this last chapter, so you know, it fits the mood just about perfectly in my opinion)

For a few long moments, Karkat remains where he is in the water. The waves lap gently at him. Putting ice under his skin to accompany the cold spot already centred in his chest. It is tempered by an indescribable warmth, though, that travels about his body like the fire was under Dirk’s skin. He cannot make his mouth flatten- it’s hooked up at the corner, in the beginnings of a smile. He may be wandering around with this smug little smile for the rest of the week, if he can’t get himself under control now.  
It is the frog squirming in his arms that finally brings him back to reality. He manages to tear his eyes from the calm patch of water where the Striders sank, or rather, were swallowed. It is difficult, because their after-image is burned into his eyes.  
If he looks very hard he can imagine he still sees their backs. Dave’s little arms around Dirk’s neck, utterly trusting. The back of Dirk’s white-blond head, his pale swan’s neck and his broad shoulders contrasting and complementing each other’s shape perfectly. The bright blood-spot of the red poppy, bobbing in Dave’s tiny fist.  
Karkat understands that he will, in all likelihood, never see them again.  
His rag-tag duo of brothers, made targets and mesmerising by their total lack of knowledge of where they were and all the more magnetic by the determination to pull the hell through anyway. His friends. More than friends. There’s not quite a word, yet, which Karkat knows of, for what those boys managed to mean to him in the short time that he had them.  
That moment in Adelaide will haunt him for the rest of his days.  
He turns back to the riverbank and starts to shrug. A row of grim faces watch him return. One or two mouths open to offer some hollow comfort, but mercifully, they think the better of it and swallow their tripe. As the water falls from Karkat’s legs, he closes his eyes. They are still there, nestled behind his eyelids. If he blots out the rest of the world, he can still hear their last words.  
How long will those echoes last, he wonders?  
Just when Karkat’s got his foot (his bare foot, holy fuck, is he freezing) on dry land, the frog leaps out of his arms. He swears and swipes for it, but it splashes into the water.  
“Gods-damned frog!” that was all he had of the boys left, wasn’t it?  
Unless you count the blood dried on his clothes from any of the number of the times that one of them has bled on him.  
He is about to give the chase for the slippery amphibian when the water in front of him explodes, showering him. Karkat lets out a yelp of shock, which is joined by a cry of pure elation. In front of him stands a very familiar girl, in a thin, green summer slip. Her black hair is plastered to her face, which is whitened from the cold, but it is easy to tell that at the proper temperatures, her skin would match his in hue.  
“Kanaya?”  
A chorus of gasps and one ill-timed “hot damn!” comes from the riverbank.  
“Yes!” she holds her hands aloft, the fingers spread “No more webbing! Oh, Karkat, for the love of the gods, honey, I made it so obvious it was me!”  
He gapes “No you fucking didn’t! You were green and warty!”  
“Dave literally just called me by my name- oh, it doesn’t matter!”  
The siblings hurl themselves into a hug in the same instant and splash into the freezing water, laughing for joy, and crying for the great friends the river has just swept away.

 

His name is Jake English, and God bless his stubborn heart, he’s been holding onto you this entire time.  
Your eye flutters open to a riot of dark water, and a whip of orange-green shore off to the side.  
“Jake!”  
“Dirk! Don’t slip off again, please, please don’t-”  
You cup his face with one hand, using the other to hang onto him “I’m here, I promise! I’m back.”  
“Oh my God, your eye-”  
“I know. Where’s Dave?”  
“DIRK!”  
You look to your left and see Dave, clinging to the branches of a tree that’s been washed into the middle of the river. His face is grim, but he’s got the most wickedly satisfied smile you’ve ever seen on his face.  
“Jake, get to the shore!”  
His eyes widen in fear “But you can’t swim that far, you’re half dead already-”  
“Please. Just let me take care of this. I started this.”  
Now, the look in his eyes is of steel “And I followed you.”  
“You didn’t follow me far, thank God.”  
“I- what? I just jumped a fucking bridge, you nerd! I’m swimming out there with you! You’ll need two people to get him back anyway!”  
Your whole body aches, down to your very bones. The holes where the Edelwood climbed out are now making themselves known by a keen pain all over, like a needle being pushed into your muscles, but you embrace the pain. You accept it and now it can’t do much to hinder you.  
“HANG ON, DAVE! WE’RE COMING!”  
The swim is not easy. Cutting through a current, thick with the cold and swift as hell was never going to be easy in the first place, and now with your bones weary from death and the other things the Unknown put you through, it feels as if you are inhabiting one of those corpses from Pottsfield and forcing your body to do your bidding against its will. Nerves strained. Muscles tense. Every tendon, curling in on itself the way a guitar-string looks after snapping in two.  
But you can do it.  
If you can fight off the Good Woman of the Woods with one eye out and only miles of yarn and some scissors to defend yourself, then you can cut through this measly current. And you do.  
Jake, for his part, is really putting the skills he’s learned in his endurance training from his grandmother to good use. He’s swimming like a mermaid. What’s better, he’s struggling to keep up with you. You must really be swimming like a maniac, right now.  
When you’re close enough, you grab a branch and pull yourself up to Dave. Panting, you sling an arm around his shoulder, then Jake’s. For a moment, the three of you just hang on in the middle of the river, trying to get your breath back. You drop your head to Jake’s strong shoulder. Dave cuddles up to your chest.  
“I honestly cannot apologise enough for this, you guys,” you chuckle bitterly “Will it make you feel better if I say I’m never ever gonna do this again?”  
Jake struggles to speak around an obvious lump in his throat “I’m gluing a parachute to you. I’m gonna put you in armour. I’m- I’m gonna do something extreme if you try shit like this again. I mean it, I will actively stalk you to make sure you don’t-”  
You shut him up with a brief kiss that tastes like his salty tears and your saltier blood.  
“Let’s swim back, already.”

By the time the three of you make it to the riverbank, it is already full of people.  
People calling the emergency services. People gabbling to each other- “I swear, I saw him jump!” and “All three of them!” and some genius with the comment “These thrill-seekers are starting early now, aren’t they?”  
Still, more people approaching the three of you as you’re splayed out on the wet grass, sopping wet and panting for breath.  
Someone offers you a coat, which you wrap Dave up in. Jake pulls Dave into his lap and huddles up to you to share body-heat, and to share the next coat that the three of you are offered.  
“Dirk, are you…where did this trench-coat come from?” Jake plucks at the sodden sleeve of a black jacket you have never seen before.  
Like this, anyway. But it is still the same inky black that you love so much.  
“I’ll tell you in the ambulance.”  
Dave wriggles underneath his coat, and pops out the head of a perfectly dry, perfectly whole poppy for you to see “Aw, hell yeah! This thing is going right the heck in a vase!”  
Jake shoots you a quizzical look over the top of his head, but you just smile. You had forgotten how cute Jake is when he’s confused.

“Mr Strider?”  
The doctor is a tall, good-looking young man with a grin that’s kind of inappropriate to wear, when addressing three minors in shock blankets. He has found the three of you sitting on one bed (you refused to be separated, and the wards are always so crowded on Halloween that the nurses left you there once they were sure you weren’t going to die), with the privacy partition drawn around you.  
He sticks out his hand “I’m Dr Endicott. You can call me Dr Endicott, though, everyone does.”  
Of course, Dave pulls a face at the cheesy joke, but he laughs and shakes the doctor’s surgery-scarred hand anyway.  
“So, Mr Strider, I don’t know who you’ve been praying too, but they must like you,” he flips through the papers on his clip board “No trace of poisoning from the pollution in the river. No hypothermia, no potential for it either. You’ve all escaped with minor lacerations, except for you, Mr Strider. Do you know what happened to your eye?”  
Your fingers go up to the lump of gauze they have taped over it. It no longer hurts, thanks to the pain medication they gave to you. But you’re still mad that it’s gone. Completely gone, as the nurse that examined it told you. No trail of optic nerve to sever or anything, and the wound was already well on its way to healing even though it was obvious you had sustained it only hours before.  
They were baffled. All of them were baffled by the three of you, being rushed in in your sopping clothes, while the smallest of you held onto a red flower and told everyone that he had killed a demon today.  
Jake chips in “I was with him when it happened…one moment, he was fine and the next…he just sort of…he…”  
What he means to say is that one moment you were totally whole. Then your head dipped under the water, and when you came back up one eye was dressed in a strange gauze and the other was alive and bright with a renewed will to survive.  
“Nope. I guess I just scratched it bad on the way down.”  
The doctor hums cheerfully “Scratched it with a scalpel and a trained nurse, I’d say. Clean wound. Cleanest wound I ever saw. It even smells like mint.”  
Curious, Dave tries to sniff your eye. You hold him back.  
“Is he gonna be ok?” asks Jake.  
Dr Endicott nods “With the unfortunate exception of being down one eye, your friend is in good condition. I mean, your boyfriend.”  
You wait for Jake to correct him. Instead, he takes your hand and squeezes gently.  
“Ew.” announces Dave “You guys are so gross.”  
You would be kissing Jake passionately and messily right now, if it weren’t for Dr Endicott beaming at you, so Dave had better count himself lucky for being spared that.  
When you’re finished grinning sheepishly at Jake, you realise something has changed in the doctor’s manner. His smile is still in place, but as he pushes the curtains back into place, cutting off the rest of the world, there is something heavy behind it.  
“May I speak frankly and weirdly for a moment?”  
“Sure.”  
“Did you see it? The woods?”  
Oh, ok. Ok.  
Ok. This can make sense, if you let it.  
“Yeah, we did,” your mouth feels as if it belongs to someone else, as do the words, the whole situation. This is just too weird. This doesn’t happen, does it?  
To other people? To anyone?  
It can’t be.  
“The Unknown?” says Dave “Yeah, we went there. So, you were in the woods too?”  
Dr Endicott sighs “It’s a little different for everyone that goes there.”  
“Did you have an Adelaide?” chirps Dave, pointing to your wound “She did that to my brother.”  
Grimacing, Dr Endicott nods “She wanted to fill ours heads with stuffing- my brother in me.”  
Dave smiles “Your big brother?”  
The doctor returns his smile, if a little sadly “That’s right.”  
“Big brothers are awesome, aren’t they?”  
Jake has no idea of what is going on.  
“They really are. In fact, my big brother did something a little bit illegal for me. I hope you don’t mind, but I kind of had him go to your house once the nurses gave me your home details.”  
For the first time, it occurs to you that you’re back in the same dimension as your father again. Dread knots your stomach, but it doesn’t do much more than that. After what you’ve been through, one disturbed man seems like a kitten trying to roar, compared to the lions you have battled and defeated “I bet our father didn’t take too well to that.”  
“Uh, therein lies a problem. I guess you’re wondering why he hasn’t shown up yet-”  
“Nope,” says Dave flatly “Not at all.”  
Dr Endicott’s face falls “Well I sure am sorry about that. Anyway, he left a note. Here.”  
He reaches outside the privacy partition and retrieves a bag of clothes that you recognise as yours- shoes and all. Dr Endicott extracts a note from your shoe and passes it over to you, unfolded.  
Your father’s hand-writing, loopy and neat: ‘they sprung a business trip on me. Food’s in the fridge, money’s in the closet. Dave’s bed time is at 8, no questions asked. Go to school and no going out’  
Jake reads the note in a silent fog of discomfort over your shoulder. When he has finished it, twice over, his lips brush the back of your neck very briefly. He’s never really met your father. No one ever really has.  
Dave crumples up the note disinterestedly “Well, I guess we’re taking a taxi home.”  
Dr Endicott gives him another one of those sad smiles “You’re Mr English, aren’t you?”  
Jake perks up “My grandmother’s abroad right now. I can give her a call-”  
“We already have. She’s on the next plane back, but she won’t be here until tomorrow afternoon, apparently. Do you boys have anyone else you can call?”  
You think of Karkat “No, but it’s fine. We stay home alone a lot, and Jake can come over.”  
“That’s not ideal for-”  
“No social workers,” says Dave immediately “They have horns and teeth.”  
You clear your throat “Doctor, can I talk to you for a minute?”  
He nods, so you disentangle your hand from Jakes and get up. A look of panic flashes across Dave’s face, but he clutches the poppy, which he has hidden under his shirt, and manages to calm himself down. He’s safe now. You’re here. Jake’s here. The Beast is gone, killed by his own hand, and the beast that might get to him in this world could be halfway across the country by now.  
Still, you pause to muss his hair “Be back in five minutes. Why don’t you bed down, little man? Long day. Long trip. Chill out a little bit.”  
He nods, but doesn’t make any move to follow your advice.  
Your legs are trembling a little, so with your permission, Dr Endicott takes your elbow and guides you from the buzzing ward. It doesn’t seem so strange to you that this smiling guy knows exactly what you’ve been through. As doctors go, he has one of the kindest faces you have ever seen. A dusting of stubble on a strong jaw, big, bright eyes that seem to reflect the light rather than absorb it, and still that smile in place. Where it might have creeped you out before or during your trip into the Unknown, now it’s just kind of reassuring.  
So the man wants to smile at you. Let him. He’s not hurting anyone- he’s actually making you feel better about this mess.  
Dr Endicott finds an empty office after a moment of looking and opens the door for you, leaving the lights on. For your comfort, he makes sure the door is wide open.  
You don’t have to talk about this, if you don’t want to. The door is open. You can walk away any time you want, back to your brother and your boyfriend.  
Of course, you’re the first one to blurt something “The woods. They were in autumn. They just wouldn’t stop. There was Pottsfield and the Inn and a manor possessed by an owner that was just so far gone in his own head…”  
Dr Endicott nods, as if you’re saying rational things “I’ve figured out it is a little bit different for everyone that comes through here.”  
“How- how often-”  
He waves a hand dismissively “Oh, not that often! I’ve been in and out of hospitals for training and work for years, almost ten, and I’ve only ever met two other people who have been to the Unknown. A pair of twins, actually.”  
“Then how do you know it’s different for everyone?”  
“Seems like it would be, doesn’t it? Did you have an Adelaide in your Unknown? I figure she must be a constant.”  
You point to your eye “She did this to me.”  
Dr Endicott grimaces “Whew. That’s tougher than we had it. As far as I can tell, she just wanted to stuff our heads full of wool and make us do yard work.”  
You let out a too-loud, sputtering laugh that draws some looks from the outside, as people pass. A gurney is wheeled by, while you try to bring yourself under control. The doctor waits patiently for you to finish gasping and giggling.  
“Well, you did have it a lot easier than we did. I almost died so many times. Corpses, scare-crows, possessed kids-”  
“Oh, we had one of those! Lorna?”  
“No, Gamzee.”  
His face falls “Damn. I’d like to know how she was doing…you didn’t happen to see a girl with red hair and a blue dress around, did you? She would have answered to Beatrice.” Something about the hint of grief and perfect nostalgia in the way he says the name tells you that ‘Beatrice’ must be another word for ‘Karkat’.  
“No. I’m sorry.”  
His shoulders slump a little bit, but that stubborn smile doesn’t move by much “Eh, oh well. I haven’t seen her since- listen, there is a possibility that you will go back to the Unknown- no, no don’t freak out, not properly. When I was fourteen, I was hit by a car, and when I fell unconscious then I was snapped back into that world for just a minute. I saw Beatrice there. She and I talked for just a few minutes, then she pointed me out of the Unknown and I left. Easy as that.”  
Your throat is dry, making swallowing nervously an immense challenge “I don’t know if I want to go back, even if I’d get to see…see people I’m gonna miss, there.”  
“I sure can appreciate that, son. It’s not a question of wanting to go back, though.”  
“How did you know?”  
“Hmm?”  
“How did you know we had been to the Unknown?”  
Dr Endicott flips his clipboard around and points to a note on one of the sheets “’leaves in his stomach’.”  
Instinctively, you clasp your stomach. Lifting up your shirt, you note that the white marks where the Edelwoods pierced you remain. They will probably always be there. You doubt you will mind very much.  
“Am I still…am I still growing one? In me?”  
The doctor shakes his head, his face full of sympathy “Nah. You don’t remember all that puking you did on the way over, do you?”  
You can barely remember getting into the ambulance. It is entirely possible you spent the whole time hacking up leaves and other debris- all you can recall about getting into the ambulance is Jake’s hand, either holding yours or in your hair the entire way to the hospital. And Dave’s voice, distant, although he was beside you, telling one of the paramedics about how he had killed up a tree-monster by blowing up its soul-lantern.  
“Nope. Did I get it all out?”  
“Yep. You’re all clear. It’s an awful feeling isn’t it? I had one of those growing on me.”  
“On you? Mine was growing inside me.”  
The doctor draws his lips back and shudders “Wow, that’s worse than what I had. Sounds like the two of you really had your work cut out for you. So, is it true that you jumped off the bridge?”  
The question is asked so casually that it makes you do a double-take. He didn’t just ask that, did he? But he’s staring expectantly at you, so he must have asked something. No points for his bedside manner.  
“No. I fell.”  
“And the other two?”  
“I don’t know. I guess they jumped after me.”  
“Funny. People at the site said that you jumped.”  
“Of course they did. They’re people. People make mistakes. It’s just what the species does,” you run a hand through your hair, which is now dry and clean of blood “But we just pick up and move on, after we’re done screwing up. Falling off that bridge was the biggest screw up of my life.”  
Somehow, the doctor manages to look solemn even with that sunny smile “And do you think you’re going to have much of a life after this to make mistakes?”  
“Yeah.”  
“The Unknown is only a mistake if you let it be. The people that are brought there walk away, out of the people who do manage to walk away, they leave knowing something that they didn’t know before.” he pauses and adds, with a glint of humour “And that’s a rock fact.”  
“A rock fact?”  
“The factiest fact there can be.”  
Finally, you smile back at him “I think we’re ready to go home, doctor.”  
“Alright.”  
He leads the way back to the room. By the time you have reached the ward again, you have an idea. You pause outside the partition and stop the doctor.  
“Actually, we might not go home tonight.”  
He cocks an eyebrow “You must be very tired. Spending the night where you can be looked after is a good idea.”  
“That’s not what I mean. I mean…tonight is Halloween. Lots of stuff going on. We might just cut loose.”  
“And have some fun?”  
“No. Not cutting loose like that.”  
A spark of understanding lights his eyes “Ah, well, in that case.” he tears off a corner of the sheet and scribbles down some numbers “This is my personal phone, but you should ask for Greg just in case. My brother, Wirt, he’s always over and we’re always taking each other’s phones by mistake. Don’t hesitate to call, if you need to.”  
Then he digs into his pocket and fishes something out of a brown, leather wallet. You’ve never been handed so much money before in your life, but you at least have the good sense to stuff it in your pocket without a fuss.  
Dr Greg Endicott extends his hand. You shake his hand, saying nothing. You don’t know how to thank him in the right words, so you won’t try.  
When he leaves, he doesn’t look back at you. He walks on, bent over his clipboard and humming a song under his breath (something about potatoes and molasses?) and walks away, as if nothing has happened. As if the three of you were just ordinary patients and tonight is just one more, unremarkable nights in a long succession of them.  
Jake is still awake, but Dave has dropped off.  
You climb up onto the bed on the other side of Dave. Stirring slightly, he inches over to you and puts his face in your chest. You pass an arm over his waist and take Jake’s hand.  
“We’re leaving tonight.”  
He understands immediately “I’m coming with you.”  
A warm, glowing sensation forms in your chest and spreads outwards through all of your limbs, to the very tips of your fingers.  
“Jake, that’s too much to ask.”  
“You didn’t ask me. I’m not asking your permission either.”  
His dark skin colours with blush, and he scoots a little closer to you so that your heads are now on the same pillow. His hand creeps up your arm, tracing an old scar. A very old scar, obtained from some scrap with your father that you can’t be bothered to remember.  
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he says slowly “But I’m completely in love with you. It’s not puppy love. It’s not a phase. It’s…you know. You know what it is. I know you’re in love with me too.”  
“Mm hmm.”  
“Even if you are a butt about it, sometimes.”  
You laugh “Ok, I am. I know I am. I’m gonna change that, though, if…if you wanna try again.”  
Jake’s smile is sad, but hopeful “As far as I’m concerned, that thing this morning is ancient history.”  
“I’ve got a story to tell you. Someday, I’ll tell it, but not right now. Right now? I just want to sleep. Is it ok if I drop off? Just for an hour.”  
He brushes some of your hair away from your one, good eye “Sure. I’ll wake you up in an hour.”  
He leans over Dave and kisses you, and for a moment, everything is right in the world.

 

There is a place called the Unknown. It observes the seasons and feeds its thick forests with wide, rushing rivers that never truly freeze even in the dead of winter. Its sky holds both and moon and a sun and a smattering of stars at the appropriate times. Those who populate it are of a strange breed, but will leave their doors open to welcome strangers, and their hearths lit to warm the weariest travellers. The forests are full of many things, some of which have yet to be named, some of which will never be named and most of which have lost their names to the great, white darkness that lurks at the back of each mind.  
There is no path that leads in or out of the Unknown.  
The Unknown will come to you. And when you are finished with it, and if you have fought long and hard and well, and earned the right to do so, you may leave the Unknown.

 

At some point, very close to the dawn, the party that stood on the riverbank, who are now scattered across the forest in pursuit of various tasks, each finds an occasion to look up at the moon. The moon is of a perfect, silver-white, full shape tonight, with not a drop of red in its face. As it was before. And as it will be until the next time the Unknown is visited by the outside.

Equius Zahhak stands in front of the grave where his brother lies. He was looking up at the moon an instant earlier, but the grave has reclaimed his attention.  
The grass cross that was made for him has been removed, either by a curious investigator, or by the cold, snowy winds that have fallen on the place. For now, the snowfall is gentle. Equius is plenty comfortable in his breeches and long-sleeved shirt, but his eyes are dark and tired.  
“I saw him again,” he addresses the long, dark patch of freshly turned dirt “He didn’t know it was me. He told the story- our story, at the Inn, and I just couldn’t bear to listen. But of course he strolled out here to make light conversation while I was burying you and…and he still didn’t know it was me.”  
Equius laughs bitterly and flicks a snow-flake off of his cheek before it can melt, and create the impression of the tears he’s only just holding back.  
“I lost him and I lost you all over again in the same day. But I figure I must have filled a quota for suffering, right? To go through the two greatest pains in my life almost side-by-side, in the same day? That must be something. A testament to my strength, or some bullshit like that.”  
He crouches, placing his palm flat on the grave.  
“I miss you. I miss him. I miss you both so much…but things are looking up. You’re at peace, now, and he has a chance to make some peace for himself. I’ll survive.”  
He straightens up, quickly wiping his eyes on his sleeve.  
“I’ll survive.” he repeats to the empty, frozen air, before heading back to the golden light of the Inn’s hearth.

Ms Paint tilts her head up to admire the clean, clinical white of the moon and stares until she gets a crick in her neck. Then, she looks back to the ruined mansion, and pushes the gates open.  
The fire ate the rest of the house. She does not know who has set it. She wishes she could thank them, though, and wonders if they had used the store of oil that she kept in drums underneath her bed in her private chambers for the occasion. Long before she could put the oil to use, she was chased from the house. Staying there, with her companion being the way he was, was impossible.  
And now that she is returning to a shattered, blackened husk, barely a shell of its former self, she cannot stop smiling. Everything has worked out according to her plan, even if it was not she who was there to exact the final revenge.  
Ms Paint knows the house by heart. She makes her way through the soggy, ash-strewn ruins without hesitation, until she comes upon what she was looking for. A bowed and twisted corpse. It would be throwing off the stink of rotten and burnt meat, had the snow not muffled the smell of the fire.  
Scooping the body up, Ms Paint returns to the garden. It has not been touched by the fire at all, but she can see it has long since sprawled out of control.  
“Of course,” she says, stretching the corpse out in the snow around where the other bodies are buried “You let it all go to seed, didn’t you? Lazy bones.”  
The ground is frozen and she is dreading having to dig the grave, but luck is on her side, because she finds there is already an adult-sized grave prepared.  
Ms Paint lowers the body into it without fuss or ceremony. She kicks the dirt by the side of the hole over it, along with liberal amounts of snow.  
“Goodbye, dear.”  
From her pocket, she pulls out a simple, golden band, which she tosses into the grave. She kicks the final layer of dirt over the grave.  
“I hope you manage to behave yourself better in the next life than you did in this, you naughty man.”  
Ms Paint leaves the gates of the mansion wide open, in case the peacocks want to leave as well.

“The moon is full.” notes Eridan “That means there’ll be w-witches and familiars on the prowl.”  
Cary shudders at the mention of the trade that nearly claimed his son- and did, really, for four horrible winters “Well we’re on a boat now, son, they can’t get to us unless they swim.”  
Sollux wanders up to the prow of the boat and stares up at the moon too. The water rocks them gently and knocks him into Eridan, who barely manages to catch himself on the side of the ship.  
Sollux wilts with embarrassment, and mutters “Sorry.”  
“It w-was the w-water’s fault, not yours.”  
Cary’s eyes flick down from the moon to the fog bank that has started to move in. Earlier in the day, the fog bank was especially thick. To prevent the two boys from swimming the wrong way, once they had begun their trip back to the appropriate dimensions, Cary imagines. Now, it is thinning a little.  
He looks down at the boys “Would you boys like to see what’s on the other side?”  
They both gasp in fear and exchange and excited grin.  
“Can w-we?” beams Eridan.  
“Let’s do it!” lisps Sollux.  
Cary smiles indulgently “Just remember, don’t eat anything you’re offered. Even one seed from one fruit and you’re stuck over there!”  
He is satisfied he has scared them straight, as their faces pale and they clutch each other in a jumble of wordless terror and wonder.  
There has never been a Ferryman with a companion before. But it seems such a shame to separate Eridan from his friend, after all they had helped each other to survive. They will make a charming couple, when they get older. Cary can live with that.

“Jade,” hisses Vriska “Quit gaping at the moon, you’ve got a target to take care of. Shoot first and star-gaze later.”  
“Oh, sorry.” grins Jade “It’s just really pretty tonight. The moon.”  
Terezi takes her by the chin and aims her head to the front, so that she is looking out at the corpse. It’s shambling up the path, completely innocent of the danger. Pottsfield is a long way away, and it must have come this far unperturbed. Why should it expect its certain doom to come on the scene now? Well, there are three certain dooms, stretched out on their stomachs with the little one in between, aiming a bow for the first time.  
Vriska whispers to her “No pressure. If you don’t get it, it’s gonna try to eat your face, but-”  
Terezi reaches over and smacks her on the back of the head “Let her concentrate, you silly bastard!”  
So Jade is giggling uncontrollably when she brings down her first monster. The first of many, under the care of the two trackers.

Outside, Gamzee is also enjoying the moon.  
He points it out to his father, who is stretched out in the snow next to him. He has brought his work outside with him, despite the cold and the snow the ground, so his son can enjoy the brisk night. A book is open in front of him. The ink he uses to write is warm blood, but not his, nor his son’s.  
“Whatcha got?” asks Gamzee, nodding towards the little pellets that sit in a scrap of cloth in front of the book “That’s the shit that Equius an’ Karkat Vantas gave ta y’all, yeah?”  
Graa’ant nods “What I got me here, is possibly the most dangerous stuff there is in our world.”  
Gamzee furrows his brow “It’s more dangerous than I was, when I was wicked?”  
His father chuckles and ruffles his hair “Infinitely more dangerous.”  
“What are you gonna do with it, if that’s scary?”  
“Reckon I’ll ask Cary ta take it over ta the other side ‘a the river. They got more use for such things than we do.”  
“Cool…hey, Daddy?”  
“Hm?”  
“What we gone do with all them bones?” Gamzee cracks up as he nods towards the open door of the house, to the basement “We got us a whole catacomb down there, an’ y’all can’t make me do it no more, without that bell.”  
“Oh, you ain’t gone help me?” he pokes his son in the chest gently “Not outta the goodness ‘a your heart?”  
“Ah, hell no! Yer turn to tote them bones!”  
“Ok, fair enough, baby, I’ll get rid of ‘em.”  
A comfortable silence falls between them. After a moment, Graa’ant lets out a long, shuddering sigh, which makes Gamzee wrap him up in a hug.  
“I miss him too, but he ain’t hurtin’ no more.” he says “Loz’s fine, now.”  
“When did you get ta be so motherfuckin’ smart, huh?”  
“I always been this smart. Y’all’re just too stupid ta notice.”  
Graa’ant smiles, but he doesn’t laugh. He just gathers his young son up to him and thinks about what the future is going to look like, with no wicked spirit, and no trapped, tormented elder son to occupy his mind.

Karkat looks up at the moon, squinting against its bright light. It is shining freely through the hole in the ceiling- at this point, there are more holes than ceiling at the mill.  
“Hey, Kanaya?”  
She’s stooped over the remains of the garden outside, dusting the snow off where she can “What? Does your back still hurt?”  
“What? Oh, fuck, no, not that, no I’m completely numb. I was just thinking that we should probably sleep outside tonight, in case the roof tries to come down on our heads.”  
She groans “Well, it’s not like neither of us have done that before.”  
“Hey, why are you bitching? You got to ride in style.”  
She hums thoughtfully “Dave’s shirt wasn’t exactly the height of style, but gods, it was the most comfortable way I have ever travelled the roads.”  
“So that’s a yes to sleeping outside?”  
“Yes. Now, quit procrastinating. We have a lot of work to do to get this place liveable again. Father will want to relax, when he returns.”  
Karkat’s face grows bitter “You really think he’s coming back?”  
“He had better, after what he did. I’ll need to punch him in the jaw before I can move past the time I spent as an amphibian. And Porrim needs to come back, too, since I’ll be needing help in the garden,” Kanaya holds up a single, frosty pumpkin “You’re useless with a trowel. Help me with this pumpkin, will you?”  
“What pumpkin?”  
“This one! It’s the only one to survive the frost. Now, come here.”  
Karkat doesn’t go to her aid immediately. He looks up at the moon for just a few moments longer, hoping against hope to see a tinge of red slip into the white above. After a while, his neck grows sore. So, he cracks it, and goes to help his sister. The moon isn’t going anywhere. Any night he wishes to look up at it, to think about red eyes and strange names like Germany, he can look up at the moon and feel a little bit closer to what has just ended.

Calliope kneels in the snow. She clears away a clean spot, where the grass has yet to die, and digs patiently with her chapped, bare hands until she has made a hole about the size of her head. Careful not to spill any, she brings the ashes of her brother from her pocket and lowers them into the hole. She does this with her cupped palms several more times. When every last chase of her brother has been removed from her pocket, Calliope extracts another item from her other pocket.  
A grass crossed. Filched, perhaps, but the sentiment is the same.  
She kneels in front of the ashes for a long time, waiting for tears. But there is only so much of these stretching, hollow moments she can deal with before she tires of it.  
Calliope stands without having shed a tear. She says nothing to the small mound of dirt she leaves behind her, with the grass cross packed just underneath the surface.  
The Beast, her brother, decided long ago that he did not wish to hear what she had to say, and even in death, Calliope can feel his reproach so strongly that she refrains from saying anything, until she has made it back to the road. From there, she sighs, and begins to walk forward.  
Always forward, from this point on.

 

 

 

“Dirk, look at that. Isn’t that the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen?”  
Jake is pointing to the roof of the hospital. Your hands curl into fists inside the deep pockets of your new, inky trench-coat.  
“Whoa,” says Dave appreciatively “Look at all the birds.”  
“I didn’t even know we had cardinals here.” says Jake in wonder “Isn’t it too cold for them? It’s going to snow any day now.”  
Your eye is misting over, so you have to find a sneaky way of mopping it up without also grinding your knuckle into the new hole in your face, which is covered by a patch of fresh gauze “That is pretty weird. Huh, Dave?”  
Dave gives you a significant look to let you know he understands the implications perfectly well, thanks very much. You heft your bag, which contains the beginnings of your supplies for the trip. In a moment, you will be heading home to retrieve a select few items- more clothes, money, some food and a book or two to read to Dave when you need to keep him quiet.  
Also, a knife. You have grown so used to carrying on that it feels foolish to walk around without one now.  
You wave to the cardinals. Dave does too. Jake looks at you both like you’re the strangest things he’s ever seen, but even he gets in on it too. The dozen or so cardinals there shiver as one and, all at once, spray up into the air, their wings pumping, their feathers as glaring as drops of blood against the grey cloud. They shrink in the distance, blurring into one red shape that seems to be heading for the river.  
“Weird,” muses Jake “Halloween must mess up the birds too.”  
Dave tugs on your hand, then grabs Jake’s and tugs on his for good measure. He has grown a little nervous since leaving the hospital, to get home, and then to get on your way. He took to the idea of running away surprisingly quickly, and now treats it as if he thought it up himself.  
“Let’s go.”  
“Alright, little man, we’re going. Got your poppy?”  
Dave pats a pocket “Got it. Got your boyfriend?”  
You gesture to Jake, who chuckles “Got him. Off we go.”  
Dave hangs between the two of you. He fills the crisp air with the idle chatter of a child, contented in the knowledge that he is safe and in his own world again, and excited for the future. Over his head, Jake catches your eye.  
He speaks softly, so that Dave doesn’t hear him “Dirk…when you were blacking out in the river, where did you go?”  
“Long story.”  
“Can you give me a synopsis?”  
You consider it “Let’s just say I went for a long stroll among the Edelwoods.”  
“I have no idea what that means.”  
You allow yourself a smile. A broad, unchecked smile, for the first time you can remember.  
“All good things, Jake. All good things.”  
The encroaching Halloween night is quick to absorb you and your brother, and your boyfriend. The road ahead stretches out into a muttering gloom, populated by children hanging off of their parents, by masks of monsters, and monsters in masks. You’re not worried, or afraid.  
You are finished with fear and worry. The road ahead may be just as frightening mysterious as the roads you have left behind, but you don’t mind.  
There are plenty of wonderful things to be found, when one travels into the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it.  
> Before I get all mushy-gushy, did everyone catch the reference in there, with regards to who the doctor was? OMG GREG OMG BEATRICE OMG WIRT and so forth? Ok? Good? Good!  
> So, that was the fic. And I gotta say, that was fun to write. Thanks for the support of everyone who has kudos-ed, commented, bookmarked and just plain looked, or lurked in the background like a silent, creeping spectre for the duration. I really love OTGW, the fic this is based off, and it has to be one of the best mini-series, or just series, that I have ever seen. I know this was in no way something that could hold a candle to it, but I hope that I didn't fuck it up too badly.  
> Now, there have been some regular reviewers responding to almost every chapter, once they discovered the fic. And to you guys, a special thank you. I'm hesitant to gush without a good, good reason, but it really does make my day when I see even one comment in my inbox. Just knowing that people out there share my passions, and enjoy the way I express them is so rewarding.  
> There's one of you in particular. I won't name them, but they have always provided extremely in-depth reviews without fail, and have been reading loyally since they discovered the fic. It was beyond flattering and wonderful to have someone take such a passionate interest in what I was doing, and to them, I say a big special, gooey, huggy thank you. I hope you know who you are.  
> So, now that the Strider boys and their plus one, the lovely Jake, are headed off into the night, that's what I'll do too. It's been good, and I hope you guys all enjoy the rest of your days. Weeks. Lives in general.  
> See you folks around  
> -Aunty Agonee
> 
> (why did I write that like a letter? Jesus Christ, me, you're not going to war, you're just finishing a fic)  
> (shut up, you're ruining the effect)  
> (and talking to yourself in the A/N, do you know how dumb that looks?)

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't seen this series yet, I just can't recommend it enough  
> It's one of those series that leaves you breathless at the finale. You just feel so privileged to have seen it, and it restores your faith in horror/gothic/creepy fiction, like 'hey! it's not all sparkly vampires!'  
> There are only 10 episodes of 11 minutes each. You'll be mad about that running time once you've reached the end.  
> In fact it's probably a good idea to watch them before reading this, if you've plans to stick around. Spoilers are bad.


End file.
